Lamentia
by KAISRE
Summary: Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian. // Asylum AU // RussiaxLithuania
1. Ausra

_**Title: **__Lamentia  
__**Author: **__Kaisre  
__**Rating: **__T  
__**Summary: **Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **Lithuania // Toris, Russia // Ivan, and America // Alfred. _

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**_- Lamentia -  
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- I -**

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"_They say he strangled and stabbed his partner to death. The body was barely recognizable when the authorities found it."_

"_And the culprit himself?"_

"_Wailing and covered in the body's blood—a sick and twisted scene if you ask me. He was obviously deemed unfit for trial, so they sent him here."_

"_If that's the case… They may as well have put him on death row. Since… every person comes here to die."_

"_The pitiful thing."_

"_I know… So what is his name?"_

"_His name is…"_

-x-X-x-

-x-X-x-

"His name is Ivan Braginsky."

With a low rolling sound, the metal drawers clamped shut and Toris Laurinaitis accepted the thin stack of records. He turned them upside down and read over the information curiously. A small, pixilated face stared back at him, his tired-looking eyes and mouth free of any emotion. His mussed-up hair partly shadowed his face, giving him an almost threatening sort of air despite the lack of detail from the photo.

Toris skimmed over the list of information as his instructor went on. "He's our youngest patient here. Just about three years older than you, isn't that right?"

Toris nodded and his eyes automatically hovered over the birth date. _12 JUNE 1985. _He blinked, mildly surprised. "Er… How long as he been, um… unwell?"

"It's hard to say, but he's been kept at this facility for almost a whole year. You know, it's only your first day here, Toris. Are you sure you'd want to start now?"

The young man smiled, combing his dark hair back behind his ear with a finger. "Doctor Gordon back in Kaunas told me about the growing problem here—I have to try my best, Mr. Jones."

"I've already told you, it's Alfred." He shook his head, wheat strands swinging back and forth. "I can't believe you moved from Kaunas to a hellhole like here. Top grades at the Vytautas Magnus and you're working with criminals. Why in the world?"

Toris tucked the papers under his arm. "And I've told _you_. I'm not interested in medicine and nursing anymore. I've already decided to switch to psychology and Gordon said this place would be in trouble after one doctor left after another." He paused, shuffling his feet a bit uncomfortably now. "… People need help."

"The people here are messed up, Toris," Alfred said and the other frowned. "Once the week is over, I'll be flying back to America and you'll be pretty much alone."

"It's honestly not that bad, right?"

Alfred sighed and pressed his palms to the back of his head, stretching. "Thanks to drugs and the like, you're safe—they keep this guy heavily medicated. I've been here a little longer than you though, and I know the staff is far from friendly either. It's what happens when you've been cooped up in a place like this for too long—I miss New York already."

There was a pause in the conversation before Toris spoke up again. "So… what is it that I'm supposed to do?"

Alfred searched the surface of the work desk before taking out a single sheet of paper from its stack. He handed it to Toris who placed it over the files he already had.

"Well… make sure he takes his medicine once during lunch and once during dinner. Here are the drug details, but don't worry about them since every portion is labeled. Talk to him, try to make him open up and write down whatever you can. From what I've heard, the crazy Russian is as stubborn as ever. He refuses to say a word—except when he finds the need to be difficult and insult the workers." He made a face. "Yeah, good luck with him. Most people get sick after the first three days."

Amused, the younger one asked, "Are you one of those workers?" The American shook his head.

"Nah, but I've talked to him once and I couldn't understand a word. It's creepy if you ask me, but it was as if he could tell what would piss me off the moment he laid eyes on me. 'Spoke nothing but Russian, even though the others swore he could speak Lithuanian with a little decent English."

"Did you ever find out what he was saying to you?"

Alfred shook his head again. "No… Maybe he wasn't even talking to me. His eyes were off—like he wasn't there, if you know what I mean." He rubbed his arms, disturbed. "And when another guy called him out on it, he pretended he had no idea what he was talking about and acted innocent."

It sounded like something curious to him. "What is he diagnosed with?"

"Eh, you're asking the wrong person, Toris. I'm not his caretaker. The documents I've given you should have everything you need."

"I think I should see—"

"Mr. Laurinaitis."

The two turned to see who had cut into their conversation. The first thing Toris noticed was the salt-and-pepper hair that was pulled back in a tight, strict-looking bun, exposing a bony face. Thin, maroon lips were pursed into a straight line as beady eyes surveyed the young men slowly. "Alfred, your shift is over. I'll be watching our new intern from now on."

A heavy hand clapped Toris on the shoulder before the blond turned to leave. "Hey, it was nice meeting you. I'll see you around." He grit his teeth and his eyes darted to the old lady in warning. "_Good luck._"

"Y-yeah… bye, Alfred," he bid, his smile not as strong this time.

The woman didn't give him a chance to regain his composure when she leaned toward him, putting the intern back under her scrutinizing gaze again. Toris resisted fidgeting. She was so close that Toris could easily see the facial powder cake into the wrinkles of her crow's feet. It wasn't hard to catch the whiff of a foul-smelling perfume either.

Vulture eyes drifted to the files under Toris's arm and narrowed. He looked away uncomfortably.

"Well? What did Mr. Jones tell you?" She inquired sharply.

Toris gave up trying to get a name. "T-that I'm to take care of my patient's daily needs and provide therapy on occasion."

"Is that all?"

"Yes…" he confirmed. "Did he forget something?"

The woman visibly relaxed. "No, not at all." She held out a hand and Toris shook it reluctantly. "Forgive the belated introduction; I had matters to attend to. My name is Morta Lanka and I am the vice-principal of this facility. If you have a complaint dealing with the staff or the facility itself then you are to go to me. Understood?"

"Yes."

"You were going to start work today, correct?"

"Yes." He felt a bit redundant.

"Good, our receptionist down in the lobby has your card ID for you. You are to carry it around with you at all times as it is required, along with the respective key, to enter any of our patients' wards. And you have been assigned… ah… It's Mr. Braginsky. That's right."

There was a smirk and Toris instinctively gripped onto the papers tighter.

"I can handle it, ma'am."

The sharp smirk remained and Toris let his eyes wander to the far end of the door.

"I do not doubt your abilities—your professor put in a good word for you. Normally we do not accept applicants without a drop of professional experience but you are exceptional."

With this woman, Toris couldn't tell if he was being scrutinized or complimented. "Thank you… I'll try my best."

"Are you nervous, Laurinaitis?" She asked quite suddenly.

"No—"

The woman laughed and Toris flinched, puzzled. "Go on, go get your ID. Your internship starts officially once you're ready.

-x-X-x-

After dropping off his load at the cubicle he was assigned, Toris retrieved a map and his personal identification from the front lobby. The lady who worked there cast him a look of pity after she had went over her record.

"_Upstairs in the central wing should be the patient you are looking for. The room number is B-12. All doors lock automatically upon entering so keep the key close to you. You are to press the red button located on the key case if something is to happen."_

Toris repeated this set of advice inside his head as he scaled the stair case and entered the respective wing like he was instructed.

He walked down the stretch of the hallway, gaze darting back and forth. Most rooms had open windows to the side of the door and from what he saw, most chambers of the central wing were stark white and promptly unoccupied.

"8…10… Here it is." Toris came to a stop before a room that was strangely more spaced out from the general arrangement of the hall.

The door had a slender window in it's center and the intern carefully had himself take a peek. However, the way the room was built made it impossible to see anything aside from a wardrobe that matched the walls of the room.

The door had a slot and Toris scanned his ID and card key, one after the other. The device flashed green and he heard a sharp click when it permitted the door to be unlocked. He stood to his manners and knocked before entering.

It was his job to tend to the patient and provide therapy, but now that Toris was here, he was thinking twice about whether he was actually ready or not.

Three steps in and he already felt his limbs stiffen in reluctance due to the impersonal feel of the room. He stood with his back facing the door, unsure if he were supposed to do something else.

"H-Hello?" The word was strained in his throat and he coughed, trying again. "Hello?"

He received no answer or form of acknowledgment. The lack of life in the room only seemed to contribute to its stifling air. Toris rested a hand against the corner of the wall and looked around it.

On the contrary, there _did _seem to be an inhabitant of this chamber. The man was laid back in bed, seemingly nonchalant. However, he noticed Toris's head that was poking around the corner and he sat up slowly.

Not saying a word, Toris was met with a lazy stare. The man's face remained unchanged compared to the photo in the files Toris was given. His ashen blonde hair remained the same length and even more untamed-looking. However, unlike in the photo, the violet of his foggy irises saturated with medication seemed to possess a much deeper depth in life, though they still lacked the sort of vitality Alfred possessed. Toris blinked to retain his focus.

He stepped out from the entranceway and the man made no move to greet him, nor did he raise a voice to shout at him. Instead, a curious smile crossed his lips and the man tilted his head, letting the uncomfortable silence settle over them.

"_It's creepy if you ask me, but it was as if he could tell what would piss me off the moment he laid eyes on me. 'Spoke nothing but Russian…"_

"Priv… privyet," Toris greeted, hoping his accent didn't ruin it too much.

The continuous stare was interrupted with the brief flash of the eyelid… Though his odd grin remained. Strangely enough, this sign of activity only seemed to unnerve Toris further but he didn't let his discomfort deter him.

"Vu govorite po ruski?" Toris was surprised to hear how soft-spoken his words were—the depth of his voice definitely did not match his large stature.

Beyond those two phrases, his knowledge of Russian escaped him and Toris reverted back to his original language. "I've studied the language, but I only speak a little Russian."

"This is fine." His Lithuanian retained a strongly defined accent but Toris found no trouble understanding him. "Shame, Russian is beautiful, da? From heaven… Now, what are you here for?" He shifted in his bed, pulling the covers over his arms.

The younger one extended a hand but the Russian only eyed it, his constant smile replaced by a look of wariness. "To talk to you," he answered, keeping his words even, "my name is Toris. What about yours?" He already knew this man's name but he thought it'd be reasonable of him to ask anyway.

"If you are new here, then I pity you." He brushed off his question like it was nothing, but took Toris's offered hand with his own larger and heavily-calloused one. They shook slowly and his hand fell back to his side.

Toris looked around before pulling up a rounded stool and taking a seat. "You don't like this place?" _Well obviously._

Pale fingers dug into the sheets but quickly loosened. The cold smile returned. "_Nyet_. Trapped in a country that spits at the nature of my blood—why should I?"

"I don't know," the Lithuanian admitted, placing his hands on his knees. "You've lived in Russia, haven't you?"

"_Da_, it is my homeland." His gaze lowered but he did not change his expression. "It is where my family lives today."

"Same here I suppose. My own family is far." Toris put on a soft smile of his own and he looked up again. "Can you tell me about your home?"

Something crossed his face but Toris couldn't lay a finger on it—though he could compare it to something like amusement.

"It is beautiful. Russia has wide… free? Free land of the people. I love my homeland—there is no other that can compare to her."

He nodded. "Do you miss it?"

There was a crack in that unwavering smile and those large, white hands jerked. "…Very much so."

His heart pricked with pity. Toris wasn't stupid—locked in a country plagued with grudges and prejudice only added to the repressed feeling of isolation. "I'm sure you'll see her again—your homeland I mean."

Suddenly, sharp laughter burst from chapped lips in reply, startling him. "In death, Toris. I am held here; I will die here."

Toris gripped the edge of his seat, frowning at the statement of such a bleak outlook. He did not know enough about this man. He didn't know what he has done to earn such a place here—the severity of his crimes. "Have you stepped out of here even once?"

"Oh, _da_. In Russia, they say only a fool will stop fighting. Many times I have tried to leave." He lifted his hands, digging his palms into his eyes, rubbing them. His smile remained as he continued, "But then… only a fool smiles when he is not happy. Am I a fool, Toris…?" He hummed, his distant rambling was calm, yet it still brought down a level of unease. "Or am I beyond such sayings? I wonder."

Toris didn't have anything to say to that. It wasn't that the other had given him a dishonest word—quite the opposite in fact. Lies never cured an illness. "…You won't stay here forever." It was all he could provide.

It didn't seem to be enough. The other got on his knees and leaned from the edge of the bed.

"Do you think I am crazy, Toris?"

"Crazy…?" Toris contemplated his question, choosing his own words carefully. "… That's unfair. We've only just met but… I cannot say you're crazy—you've given me no reason to."

The smile in front of him wavered and vanished, replaced by a frown of confusion. Apparently, he did not expect the answer Toris had for him. "You are so strange."

Toris shrugged in response. "We are the same in a sense, aren't we? We're both people. I've no right to judge you."

"You are strange…" He repeated, shaking his head. "Does it not bother you?"

"What does?"

His frown deepened and Toris did not understand his increasing confusion. "You are from this country, yes? Do you not hate Russia?"

"What does that…?" He stopped, the thought hitting him. "Oh." Hate was an extreme word to use and Toris did not expect a question like that to come up. However, he did see where this man was coming from—he's seen this sort of a hate before, even in the best of them. "Like I've no reason to call you crazy, I've no reason to hate Russia. I still think my homeland, Lithuania, is beautiful. I love my home as much as you love yours, but I do not think one is better than the other. Both have their own appeal, I think."

"It is as you say—this country has beauty, but it has hate. Beauty means nothing if there is too much hate, and I cannot find any good here." His eyes wandered away from Toris to the window. "Trapped here, Toris, I cannot compare this place to my home."

He didn't like what he was saying. It wasn't because he thought it was all a lie—quite the opposite in fact—Toris knew he was telling the truth, and that's what bothered him the most. "There is hatred everywhere, but it's natural. I don't like it and I wish it didn't have to be this way, but after all these years, I think I know why people hold onto their hate for so long," he said thoughtfully. "But even grudges don't last forever; it will eventually pass."

The older one looked surprised at his answer. Something flickered in his eyes like a dying flame. "The hate will pass when the old die, _da_?"

"… Not all the time—I hope it won't have to come down to tha—" he was interrupted by his own startled cry when the Russian landed his hands on Toris's knees, pulling his face dangerously close to the other's. His orbs glinted like mirrors, reflecting malice deep into Toris's own eyes.

"_Kill them,_ _Toris_." Ignoring personal space, a calloused finger tilted Toris's chin up when he paled, his blood running cold. "_Kill, get rid of whatever bothers you._"

"N-no." A thick chill descended upon the room and the smaller man struggled to distance himself. He tried to keep the reason within his words—fear only held one back. "That's… that's the easy way out. In the end, it will only inspire more death and hatred."

A sickly grin split those gray lips again and Toris cast his gaze away. "_Not if it were your own people._ This will make the hate pass faster,_ da?"_

He shook his head, clearly disagreeing. "Hatred begets hatred. You can't solve problems of murder with murder."

"Murder," he whispered, hitting Toris's cheek with a cold breath. He leaned back down on the bed again, his weight no longer upon the brunette. When Toris looked back at him, the glint of madness was gone from his eyes.

No words passed between them until Toris mustered enough of his courage to start, "Are you…?"

"Forgive me." It was his turn to look away, his mouth bent and brows furrowed. "I say things I do not mean sometimes…"

Toris ignored his self-conscious and bent forward, gently taking one of those larger hands with his own. He gave it a soft squeeze and slowly, cold fingers curled around his own with a surprising gentleness. "… It happens."

Silence found them again but Toris felt at ease this time. He felt accepted and he didn't want to ruin the serenity they managed to establish. From his place on the chair, Toris looked outside at a darkening sky—evening was already falling upon them. He will have to serve the food and medication soon.

In the stillness, Toris let his thoughts go free and wander. He thought about his home in which he missed dearly. He thought about Kaunas and its timeless buildings. He thought about the people waiting for him—missing him. His choice to transfer was not without protest but Toris knew what was to become of him when he saw the arising problems with his own eyes. Though perhaps… He'll visit again one day…

A faint murmur pulled him from his languid thoughts.

"'Is Ivan…"

"Hm?" Toris blinked, looking from the window back at him.

"My name is Ivan.." he said again, looking almost shy. His name rolled off his own tongue smoothly, merging perfectly with his accent.

Toris only smiled—his name willingly given to him at last. "Ivan… It's a nice name." It was certainly something different to hear the name come from its owner's mouth, rather than someone else's who only spoke of him in contempt.

Ivan hesitantly returned his smile but held onto his smooth hand with a new sort of confidence, having no more to say.

But that was fine… for him.

**- - x - X - x - -**

_End of Chapter 1. Obviously, this is going to be my new project I'll be working on. Ahaha… Wish me luck, guys. I hope you'll like it :) I made a request with the same topic on LJ and it was filled by sephy_j_maxwell. Her take on it is absolutely wonderful so I recommend you guys go over to LJ to read it too. _

_Reviews, critiques, and suggestions are always immensely appreciated. Thank you in advance to any anonymous reviewers. Love to all--! _


	2. Consultations

_**Author: **__Kaisre  
__**Rating: **__T  
__**Summary: **__Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **__Lithuania // Toris, Russia // Ivan, Prussia // Gilbert  
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_**- Lamentia -**_

**- II -**

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It seemed the facility's pharmacist wasn't expecting a request of drugs for Ivan. He said they had nothing in storage under that name but Toris _politely_ insisted that Ivan was to take the medication during that time—he even showed the man his assignment sheet. Afterwards, the pharmacist rushed to get the medicine for him, finally.

Toris was already running late when he came back, carrying a foam tray carrying a small meal. Apparently, finding his way through an unfamiliar building, where the drug wings and cafeteria were anything but close to each other, wasn't enough of an obstacle for him on his first day.

Ivan was still in the same position when he arrived. The other lifted his head and looked at the food indifferently, showing no signs of hunger.

"I do not want them."

"What?" Toris asked incredulously, taking big gulps of air to regain his breath. "You haven't eaten since noon, have you? I'm sorry I'm late, Ivan, but it's almost seven."

Ivan turned his head, voice cold and reproachful. "_Nyet_. It is not necessary." He looked back at the offending tray in Toris's hands. "Where is the medicine? Why have they not come yet?"

Toris frowned, the red and white pills clearly visible on their own little tray. "I don't know who 'they' are, but I have your medicine." Leaving one hand to hold the tray, he pinched up the glossy pellets, rolling them in his palm as he offered them to Ivan. "I have water t—is there something wrong?"

White lashes shadowed his eyes when he narrowed them, making no move to accept the pills. "This is not… this is not normal." He looked suspiciously up at him. "What are you doing, Toris? What do you want?"

Toris felt like he was being accused of something when he stood there dumbly. "I'm giving it to you." He insisted, motioning with his hand, but Ivan only shook his head.

"That is not what I mean…" He trailed off slowly, his eyes defocusing and refocusing. His hands twitched as he sat there, staring off blankly. "You… really are late. You would want to leave now," he murmured, sounding covert. He collapsed against his bed, closing his eyes as if he weren't concerned about the food or pills anymore.

Toris frowned, clutching the medicine in his hand. "Not until you take the medicine," he said firmly, adding, "please." He sat down, the mattress sinking an inch to support his weight.

Ivan grunted, digging his fingers into his flattened pillow. "No. I will take them tomorrow."

Toris only sighed. "You need to take them now. It'll be a long time till morning. Please, these will help you, Ivan."

Clenching his eyes tighter, Ivan shook his head. "_Go away. _Did they not tell you?"

He didn't answer at first, feeling lost. It didn't take a whole day to realize how enigmatic this man was to him with all his sayings—full of meanings that would escape him. "I don't know, but it doesn't matter… I'll leave if you take the medicine."

With that, Ivan reopened his eyes, peering up at him. "It is not what I mean…You are… difficult?" He suddenly hissed, hands moving to dig into his own hair now. "_Zaknis…_ No, Toris, you are different." He forced himself up with great effort, his eyes seeming to constantly be darting to his side. "Let me be. I will take it tomorrow."

Toris opened his hand to stare down at the two pills, deciding what to do with them. Ivan needed to take them _now—_that was for sure. The facility's pharmacist told him the drugs were used to subdue hallucinations and battle depression. The prescribed medicine was dangerously concentrated—dangerous to anyone else besides Ivan if they were to ingest the medicine completely.

Brows furrowed, he started to lift the pills closer to his face to read their inscriptions, but pale fingers quickly reached out and kept his hand from getting only closer.

Toris's looked up to see Ivan glaring at him, his pupils contracted in subdued panic. He looked so afraid all of a sudden.

"Give me it."

He didn't wait for the brunette to hand him the medicine. Swiping the pills from his open hand, he shoved them into his mouth and swallowed thickly. A second after, his chest heaved greatly and he was reduced into a sharp coughing fit.

"Ivan!" Toris moved quickly to support him, frightened that he was choking but the coughs soon subsided.

"…'is normal…" He rasped, pushing his body away from him. "Leave. It is not pretty…" Even when he said so, he still retained his grip on Toris's wrist. His free hand flew to his own neck as he let out a choked gasp of pain, the skin over his jugular rippling ominously.

"Ivan— A-ah!" The hand clinging to his wrist tightened considerably, threatening to snap the slender bone.

Wheezing, Ivan clutched his chest until his breath returned to him. His hand loosened and fell, thudding dully against the sheets. Toris reached for the glass of water again, pressing it to Ivan's lips, who let out a word of protest, turning his face away.

"No… I-I do not want it to be stronger…"

Toris shook his head. "Your mouth is dry. You'll be dehydrated if you don't drink."

With more gentle urging from the offering man, Ivan finally gave in and took a reluctant sip. When the water dripped down his newly-parched throat, he groaned and took the whole cup from Toris, emptying it.

"Spasiba…" He murmured, wiping his mouth. He carelessly dropped the cup on the tray of untouched food.

Toris kept his eyes on him, watching to see if the other would have any more problems. Noticing his concern, Ivan explained, "That is what the medicine does. Normally… it is not given to me in that form." He stared at the red hand-mark appearing on Toris's arm. "You are hurt, yes? Do not tell—they will take me away again."

Toris rubbed the afflicted spot, relieving it just a tiny bit. "The medicine… does it taste bad?"

The corner of Ivan's mouth twitched. "_Mozhit byit. _So you really do not know?" He rubbed his neck again even when the minor spasms had vanished. "It is strong—too strong. It burns my throat and I will experience its effects again later, in sleep."

The Lithuanian stood up slowly, his time to leave coming close. "I see… So that's why you don't like it."

"_Nyet_." He couldn't hold it back and that smile crossed his mouth again. "You are wrong, Toris." He shifted in the bed, turning his body and wrapping the sheets over his arms in a similar way like earlier. "It is getting late; nights are never pleasant. Leave the food here, Toris, or the others will see it."

Assuming he would eat it before bed, Toris nodded and stepped back. "I'll pick it up in the morning. I'll see you tomorrow, Ivan."

"Oh?" The other was staring out the window. "Marcel is not coming then? He does not come as often anymore—I have no favor for him. It will be good if you replace him." He faced him now, the hazy curve still on his face. "…Tomorrow then. Sleep well, Toris."

-x-X-x-

The spell broke when the young man left the room, leaving him in silence. His vision ran red and Ivan looked down to see his right arm convulsing against his will. Pills were slower than needles, but the effects were always the same.

The clouds outside cleared, bathing the prisoner in a comfortless light.

He let his eyes rest on the spoiling food. "It is not as you say, Toris—we are not the same."

-x-X-x-

_Served sixteen months as part of a peace-keeping division deployed to the middle-east._

_Suspected in the death of a fellow soldier. Found not guilty._

_Showed signs of schizophrenia before deployment and post-traumatic stress disorder afterward. Diagnosed as severe cases._

_Convicted for murder._

"Murder." The word was bitter on his tongue. The cab he was riding in slowed to a stop outside a lonely-looking drug store. Toris handed the driver the proper amount of money and got out of the vehicle.

He tucked the papers into his shoulder bag, entering the lit building. He had gone through the trouble of taking an hour-long drive to this particular store to see an old friend of his. Enemy, maybe, but Toris preferred to be on the former side.

He arrived at the drug counter and rung the bell that was found there. A stream of curses could be heard from inside one of the rooms.

"God damn it, I thought I already took care of every—oh, it's you."

The disgruntled man who had revealed himself was clad in a white coat and loose shirt. His platinum hair was a mess and the dark circles under his maroon eyes didn't make him look any better. Toris couldn't help but grin.

"Taking the late shift, Gilbert?"

The man named Gilbert jerked his head, grinding his teeth. "I can say the same for you. We got a lot of orders for the past seven days so my boss is making his technician, me, stay late and do _all_ the distributing for _all_ the idiots who can't bother to stop by during the day." He took a breath and grimaced. "Like you, for example. Anyways, how was the first day for our little psychologist?"

"Can I sit down?"

"Whatever, I have till midnight. I might as well get entertainment."

Toris pulled up a blocky-looking chair to sit on and propped his elbows on the counter, resting his chin on interlocking fingers. "Actually, I just needed to ask you something."

Gilbert did the same, propping his feet up. "Oh, really now?" He chewed his lip. "What would you want from me?"

"Well, I've been assigned a patient with severe disorders on my first day—but that's not what I'm asking about. We never properly studied the drugs used to treat these problems. He's diagnosed with schizophrenia and post-traumatic stress disorder. What are the side effects of the drugs?"

Gilbert thought deeply, sitting back. "That's a painful combination. Let's see… give me a moment." He closed his eyes, his lips moving to the shapes of unknown words. "Right… We don't get many people with PTSD—the few that are out there choose to go to the bigger hospitals and wards, it's their best bet anyway. Treatment is mostly through therapy—that's where you come in, obviously. Though, doctors _do_ use the stronger anti-depressants, the ones that are extremely dangerous when overdosed. They use drugs like fluoxetine, the stuff you find in Prozac.

"Schizophrenia, on the other hand, is common in our customers. The levels are unusually high in this country--along with the broader issue of depression. There's a different range of drugs for people afflicted with schizophrenia though. Their effectiveness and side effects depend on the person himself. For minor cases, the effects aren't so bad. Otherwise, you get symptoms like muscle spasms, drowsiness or restlessness, dry mouth—stuff like that. But more seriously, long term use can lead to tardive dyskinesia... It causes involuntary movement in the body—pretty dangerous in the more serious cases. All these range from minor to severe, it just depends on the person."

Toris nodded. "I remember reading about it. Post-trauma was a big issue at the university—I spent the majority of my time studying it and Gordon sent me to work at a criminal asylum."

"And you've been assigned someone suffering from both." He frowned. "You're pretty loaded for your first day, Laurinaitis—and you don't even have any professional experience."

"He's not bad…" Toris defended slowly, "He's not vulgar or boisterous, things you would expect to find in a criminal."

"How about the suave and manipulative type?"

He shook his head. "No, not that either. I can tell a man's motives the moment I meet him, though… I admit this one is a mystery to me. His actions are unpredictable in the more subtle way—it's hard to decipher what he says. But, he doesn't spew out random madness either."

Gilbert yawned, rubbing his eyes grudgingly. "_Jesus Christ, _it's getting late. Where do you work now anyway?"

"Visailis. It's an hour drive south from here. A little longer away from Kaunas."

The maroon eyes were fixed on him in disbelief when the other's feet dropped to the floor. "Your professor sent you _there?_ Visailis, the criminal ward on a hill, surrounded by hills? Where hundreds were sent to die?"

Toris sighed, exasperated. Of course this guy wouldn't take things seriously. "Okay, now you're just being ridiculous, Gilbert."

"I swear I'm not." He looked at the Lithuanian as if he were insane himself. "You seriously don't know?"

Toris scowled in annoyance. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

Gilbert ignored his comment as he went on. "The last deaths recorded happened a long time ago, during the Cold War. I guess I was exaggerating, but it was turned into an interrogation facility by the Soviets. Then it was remodeled into a psych ward, though I doubt the people the Russians locked up were actually those of the insane. The facility was found corrupt when the Soviets left, so it was closed down for another five years or so."

Toris was skeptical, but he did have to admit he was curious… "I don't really see why it matters. The country is old—there are a lot of surviving buildings out there that are being reused, even though they have a dark history. The asylum isn't that different."

He shrugged. "It's the rumors, I guess—no one wants to work there. I was offered a good position at Visailis, just like my old man, but I followed my advisor and took up the job of a pharmacy technician. Now I'm stuck here distributing medicine, fixing the machinery, and dealing with the customers' complaints." Sighing, he added, "Well it's better than working with the dangerously insane. If you ask for my opinion, they're the worst kind out there."

Toris frowned, probing deeper. "But you just said your father works at the facility, right?" He asked, but Gilbert shook his head.

"_Nein_. He quit the job and went elsewhere for something new. After all that trouble of moving to a new country…" he spat, the last part seemingly said to himself rather than Toris. "Whatever. I think your professor is crazy, sending his best pupil away from the famous medical facilities of Kaunas to tend to the unwanted."

"I chose to go at his recommendation."

Gilbert gave him a funny look. "You're an idiot, Laurinaitis," he remarked bluntly.

Toris shook his head, pushing his chair out and standing back up. "I have to go. Thank you for the help."

The other scraped his teeth together. "…You're welcome… Oh, I almost forgot." He leaned behind the counter and took out a special bin, selecting a paper bag from it. He handed the package to the brunette. "Here's your prescription. Receipt is attached. We'll be expecting you in around a month—that means don't overdose, and don't skip out on them either. Just sayin' so we don't get sued."

"I'm not addicted. It's disgusting." He reached out to take the package, but Gilbert pulled it out of his reach at the last minute.

A grin split his face. "I think it's my turn to ask you something."

Toris rubbed the sides of his head. He was already exhausted and he couldn't wait to get back to his quarters. He had work tomorrow too. "Alright, what is it?"

It seemed the German liked to take his sweet time with his question until, "Do you believe in ghosts, Laurinaitis?"

Toris paled, his skin turning white enough for Gilbert to notice. His grin widened in cruel amusement.

"… I'm not in the mood for anymore stories, Gilbert." He reached for the medicine again, but the assistant did not give it to him. Toris was starting to consider leaving the store without his prescription.

"That doesn't answer my question. So have I finally found our ace student's fear?" Gilbert taunted, quickly moving in to take advantage on him. He stared deep down into those forest-green orbs, looking for his answer.

And Toris stared back, unfaltering under his scarlet gaze. They stayed like this for several seconds until the younger man broke the tension.

"No. I never have—you assume too many things about me." He snatched the bag from Gilbert's hand and turned around, leaving the store without a backwards glance.

-x-X-x-

It was the truth—he didn't believe in ghosts. But it didn't mean he held no fear for the void. Death and dying… the end of the journey for every man proved too ominous for his liking. Now that he thought about it, his fear of the dead might've sub-consciously pushed him away from the medical branch.

And thanks to Gilbert, he was wasting time laying in bed, awake. He was crammed with way too many thoughts to sleep, even though his body was begging him to rest.

_Don't think about it… It's only Gilbert—he just loves to say things to bother you. He _wants _to deprive you of sleep, it's all part of his plan. He's just bitter._

Toris felt the distinct ache in his stomach and he groaned quietly, rolling over to find a more comfortable position.

Another precious hour drifted by when Toris slowly moved his thoughts away to Ivan. He wondered what it was like, staying in the same room for days on end. He wondered if he slept at night. He wondered if the food was still there; if he ate it or not. Almost a day without food must be painful—Toris knew the inmates only received three meals a day.

Now that he was finally granted some peace, Toris worked on deciphering his nature. One day was far from enough to get to know him properly, but he may as well start.

Toris was working with the criminally insane—there was no doubt about it. Perhaps Gilbert was right in that one aspect. Maybe these people were the worst types to work with. A criminal who was sick in his head was unpredictable and dangerous.

Yet he was permitted to enter Ivan's ward without supervision. The entranceways in and out of the building were heavily secured—Toris was required to verify his identity when he left for the day, especially since he was a new intern. Very few of the windows opened, and every one of them were built with black bars on the exterior, marring an otherwise peaceful landscape of hills and trees. Yet despite all that security, all Toris needed was his identification and a card key to gain access to its respective personal ward.

The facility also seemed strangely vacant. He wasn't given a chance to see any of the other patients. Lanka only outlined the specific procedures for Ivan and no one else. She didn't even bother to assign him a veteran employee to work under. Alfred briefly mentioned the staff, and aside from the few who worked at the pharmacy and cafeteria wings, Toris came across no one.

Well, he should be grateful he wasn't put in charge of every inmate.

Unpredictable, dangerous, a twisted and distorted vision of the world—those were the three things these people shared. Though not as a family and not as men on equal standing with the rest of society.

They were unwanted. Maybe Gilbert was right about that too.

Toris read about the criminal mind—in books, articles, and anything his professor gave him. It was either an exceedingly dark or blissful place. For some, there would be a pathway back to reality. For others, there was not.

Ivan _was_ unstable. For his first day, the Russian did not come off as violent to him. Perhaps a bit unnerving at times, but not disturbingly violent or murderous. He was a mystery to him, but Toris could see the cracks in his eyes as clearly as the cracks in a mirror.

"_Do you think I am crazy, Toris?_"

Toris shut his eyes and curled up, giving his mind another nudge to fall asleep.

_What is crazy anyways?_

Thinking about it again, Toris wondered if he was lying. It was likely—after all, Ivan was just another inmate.

But it didn't feel right. _Ivan is crazy_. It didn't feel right and nor did it feel true. Even when he said it in his head, it felt like an blatant lie.

Then he remembered why Ivan was imprisoned anyway—murder.

He had delivered death to one person—maybe even two. In his mind's eye, Toris tried to recall the other's face when he spoke to him.

Picturing Ivan's empty smile inside of his own head made his neck prickle, but it wasn't horribly frightening. The other man was like a child almost. His eyes would never stay still and sometimes Toris would catch his lips or hands trembling when they talked to each other.

Despite the other's occasional quandaries, Ivan wasn't entirely someone unpleasant to be around. He remembered the feel of his calloused hands within his own. He remembered how he slowly returned his gestures and gathered enough trust to reveal his name. After all the time that took, Toris almost felt guilty knowing it beforehand—like he had peeked into someone's secret.

His palms prickled and Toris closed them.

_Do you really trust me, Ivan?_

He buried his face into his pillow and sighed, exhausted. He was just another staff member to him, probably. It would be foolish of him to think he could gain one's trust so easily. Trust was something precious—something to be gathered and built over time.

_Having one person to tend to might be my advantage. Unless she assigns me another job in the morning, I can concentrate most of my efforts on him, I guess._

It will be difficult. Maybe Toris couldn't call him crazy, but he couldn't say Ivan was normal either. Even so, he was determined to untangle those threads of thoughts and find the meaning behind his words.

_Maybe… maybe you can trust me to try my best._

-x-X-x-

_First note, Visailis is entirely fictional, though it was based off the little tidbits I learned about Lithuania's cities during the Soviet era. It was common for old fortresses to be used as torture and interrogation facilities for protesters and members of the opposition._

_I think I gave Gilbo a bad rep in The Cat's Cradle, so here he is again, appearing without most of his douche-baggery. I honestly love this guy, too bad it didn't show too much in the other story haha._

_Once again, reviews and feedback in general are immensely appreciated :'). Thank you to my anonymous reviewers in advance, and thank you for the faves and alerts. I appreciate the support. It'll be up to you guys to help me get better, and it's thanks to my beta-reader that I'm more comfortable with publishing this chapter. Loves to all._


	3. Pierogi

_ **Author: **Kaisre   
**Rating: **T   
**Summary: **Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

**_Characters: _**_Lithuania // Toris, Russia // Ivan, and America // Alfred._

_

* * *

_

**_- Lamentia -_**

**_- III -_**

**_

* * *

_**

_Ivan never really possessed much favor for the crisp evenings in Moscow. The city was beautiful, yes, but after years of growing up in the large city, the buildings and sidewalks crowded with many boisterous people grew less appealing by the passing seasons. _

_However, he was now standing outside the black gates of a humble, but fair house. The surrounding neighborhood was his home—his sole shelter from the harsh outside. The house itself had a spacious front yard with a moss-covered path leading up to the front door. Sixteen months in his absence and the dark brown shingles remained as they were when he first left his home._

_Sixteen months he had to stand on his own, without support. Sixteen months and he missed the soft embrace of his bed and the gentle songs of his sisters downstairs. Of course these luxuries could not be given to him right away on his homecoming day. He had returned to Moscow less than two weeks ago, staying in a building that did not belong to him while under the close watch of the government._

_Life goes on in Moscow, but today was different… in a way. Today, he finally gave into temptation to rest his eyes on the precious side of his childhood. This is his home, his life—nothing could replace it. With his heart pounding in nostalgia, Ivan went as far as to study the flowers and shrubs carefully tended to by his older sister. He rested a hand on the bars of the black gate, his heart filled with longing. The lock was just an arm's reach away, and if Ivan could stretch, he'd be able to swing the gates open like beckoning arms. If he were able to that, he could run free and land straight into the embrace of his family._

_But that was the problem._

_His eyes and nose burning, Ivan lifted his face to prevent any tears from falling. As his gaze was lifted, he saw the curtain flutter, as did his heart. She saw him._

_The Russian snatched his hand back as if the bars had scalded him. The front door knob turned and Ivan knew he needed to make a run for it. However, the deep ache he felt kept him rooted to the ground and Ivan found himself unable to move, even when a woman in her mid-twenties stepped down from the porch to approach him slowly._

_There was a lump in his throat and Ivan desperately wanted to call out to his sister. These accursed bars were the only things standing between him and happiness._

_Sixteen months did not fray the image of his sister's beautiful face. Ashen blonde hair framed her smooth and round cheeks, remaining the same as ever. Oceanic eyes were wide and filled with disbelief. The young woman stopped right to the edge of the gates, resting her overworked hands on the bars. _

_A fresh silence settled over them until one of those precious hands reached through the bars to cup the side of his face, his ugly face._

_The oceans wavered and Ivan found himself grasping that hand._

_"Ivan…?"_

_"Y-Yekaterina…" The man choked out, leaning his mass against the harsh barrier._

_And in that brief flash of realization, it seemed like the sky itself had crashed down on them._

_"Ivan… My goodness, Ivan…" Both hands were now caressing his face with the gentleness of a mother. "You've grown… You're so tall. It has not even been two years, but you've grown so much." The comforting touch didn't last long when Yekaterina let go to quickly work on the lock._

_"No!" Ivan shouted, shoving her hands away. His sister looked at him with a gaze filling with hurt and confusion._

_"…Can I not let my own little brother into his own house?"_

_That pain came back and Ivan shook his head in anguish. "No," he repeated again, forcing the breathlessness out of his words._

_Yekaterina looked pained when she put her hands on the lock again, but having them lay still this time. "But _why_? Has all this time away from home finally gotten to your head?"_

_Ivan took deep breaths as he tried to control himself. "T-they…They will not let me."_

_Yekaterina did not need to ask who 'they' were. "But I will let you!" His sister insisted firmly. "This is my house, _our_ house. You have sacrificed enough—how can they bar you from your own home?" Her demand rung in his ears._

_Swallowing tears, Ivan asked weakly, "Did you not receive the letters…?"_

_She shook her head and Ivan's heart fell. Now, it was up to him to explain. "We knew you would be coming home, but I heard nothing of this!" Then she lowered her gaze, looking ashamed. "But then… we chose not to read the letters until your sixteenth months were up. Natalya and I were too afraid—too afraid of any bad news. I'm sorry, Ivan."_

_Despite himself, Ivan chuckled bitterly. "Oh Sister, you know there would be men at your door if there were any bad news to be delivered."_

_Yekaterina pressed her face against the bars and Ivan did the same. "But it does not matter. You are alive, and you refuse to let me open this gate."_

_"Katyusha…" Ivan began to plead, "It's been a long time. I don't mind talking outside—the weather is nice. What have I missed?"_

_The young woman frowned at the sudden change in topic, but gave in to answer her brother anyway. "It is just me and the little one living here. Not many of our soldiers live in this area, so it is difficult for me to learn what's happening without a newspaper. Natalya has kept every letter you wrote and sent yourself." A fond expression crossed her face as she continued, "But then… After a while, the letters stopped and we received nothing but official letters from the Army. Like I said, I refused to read them. I've never seen a little girl as sad as Natalya when you first left—the same gloom took over the house when your letters stopped."_

_"How is she? Where is she?" Ivan asked eagerly, obviously curious for his clingy little sister who often frightened him. He checked the curtains to see if the young girl was looking down at them at that moment._

_"Health-wise, Natalya is wonderful, though she misses her big brother. As for where she is… she isn't here. At a friend's house—I'm happy that she is finally opening up."_

_Ivan nodded. It was a much-needed relief to him to know that his family was living comfortably in his absence. _

_"She will be back tonight. Will you stay, Ivan?"_

_As tempted as he was, the younger forced himself to shake his head. "No, I do not have much time."_

_Yekaterina tilted her head. "There's something wrong, Ivan—you've been avoiding it. Tell your big sister… it's all right."_

_But Ivan only bit his lip, shaking his head against the coaxing._

_"Ivan…" It wasn't harsh, nor was it curt, but the name itself was its own command—Ivan knew he couldn't get out of this mess he created for himself._

_It wasn't avoidable—he needed to finished what he had started. "Sister, I am sick." The pain was growing. He should have never come here._

_For a moment, she only looked confused, but when she finally comprehended the meaning in those words, confusion gave way to horror. The calloused, but graceful hands reached for his shoulders, pulling him close. "Not my Vanya…"_

_Ivan took a hand and pressed it to his face again, leaning his forehead against a bar. "They will not let me in here!" He cried. His free hand curled into a fist before pounding the iron violently. _

_"Lies…" Yekaterina tried to deny, unfazed by his fruitless pounding. "There are men infected with the war sickness going back home to their wives and families! Why are you different?"_

_He wailed, his bruised knuckles giving up. "Natalya! I cannot live with her like this! She is young, small, innocent… She has not seen the things I've seen a-and…"_

_"Natalya is—"_

_"No!" He shouted way harsher than he attended. Since when were his emotions so hard to control? "No, Katyusha… I agreed to this." Ivan's chest almost split when that same hurt look returned to his sister's eyes. Why couldn't she make this easier on him and send him away? Why didn't she understand? "I-I've seen this sickness tear good men apart. It's only temporary, they said. I'll return when I get better." He offered his sister a miserable smile but Yekaterina only had tears for him._

_Those tears spilled and splashed onto the ground beneath their feet. Her hands trembled and Ivan could not help but cry with her. Reaching all the way through the bars, Yekaterina held her shaking brother, the salt from her eyes soaking into his sleeve._

_'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… It was a mistake to come back here… S-stop crying!'_

_His big sister sniffled wetly, freeing one arm to wipe at her eyes and nose. "N-Natalya would be ashamed to see her two older siblings crying like children." She sniffed again and began dabbing at Ivan's face with her sleeve. "H-hush, Ivan. We are still paying off the loan, but we have money and Natalya is doing well in school. She will be heartbroken if she learns that she missed you, but we know you will be back." She finally gave him her own watery smile, hiding her pain._

_Ivan pulled away, nodding and sniffing pathetically. His sister cried a lot—making him cry as well, though in contrast, it was a good quality of hers that she was not weak and easily fazed. Yekaterina combed her fingers through his hair one last time and took a step back. She wiped her eyes clean and tried her best to give him an affectionate gaze without bursting into tears again._

_"We're proud of you Ivan… We're your family. So go on! The sooner you get better, the sooner you can return home for good. I know no illness can cripple my little brother. Natalya and I will still be here when you come back."_

_Ivan nodded again, masking the deep pit in his core with a faint smile. "Good bye, Yekaterina."_

_He gave his old home one last fleeting look before turning around, the intention to drown out his sorrows at the old saloon settling down in his mind._

-x-X-x-

_Mm… Light already?_

Ivan returned to the state of reality, rolling over to hide his face from the rising sun. He nuzzled his pillow and drew the covers over himself tightly. As sleep slowly ebbed away from his mind, Ivan came to remember that there would be no saloon or bar waiting for him down the streets of Moscow. The faces and names of his sisters vanished along with the dream, and Ivan shrugged off his stale emotions of longing.

He shifted his thoughts to the brown-haired man who paid him a visit yesterday. Ivan was blind to whatever intentions the young man had. He was too strange—too odd. And his name… What was his name again?

Toris.

That's right—that's what he told him along with his poor display of Russian. Ivan smiled to himself, slightly amused. Despite his attempts, Toris didn't seem like the rest of the illiterate fools of this prison.

But his inability to see through this man's intentions made him uncomfortable. Of course Toris wanted the same thing as every one else—that was no surprise to him. Why he was coming about it this way was what confused him. Marcel and every other worker before him always made it clear about what it was that they wanted.

Ivan rolled over and cracked his eyes open to take out his confusion on the ceiling. He could easily hear the high chirps of the birds flitting outside. It was definitely morning, the other should be here soon.

Moving his eyes to rest on the opposite wall, Ivan waited to see if Toris was really going to come back here again.

-x-X-x-

"Morning Toris! Bagel?"

Toris had his first smile of the day when he turned to see Alfred sticking a circular piece of bread into his mouth. He offered a similar piece to the other.

"Oh thanks," he said, accepting the food. Toris was walking down the main hallway that led to the stairwell and elevator of the building when Alfred came running up behind him.

"No problem, food in the morning is important. So, how was yesterday?"

Toris tore off a piece of the bagel and ate it slowly before answering, "It wasn't bad. You and Lanka had nothing good to say about him but he honestly wasn't that terrible. A bit… unstable, yes, but it would be hard to tell he was mentally unwell if you got him to talk to you for a bit."

The blonde thought about this. "So he actually talked? What did he say?"

Toris shrugged. "He talked about his home. He didn't elaborate but it was obvious he missed it. I guess he spends a lot of his time thinking about his family in Russia."

Even a simple piece of information proved perplexing to him, Toris noticed. "And you listened to all that?"

He frowned, holding the rest of the bagel in his free hand, the other carrying a plastic-covered takeout box. "Well… yeah? Isn't that what I'm supposed to do? He had something to say so of course I listened to him. He told me some odd things but none of it was exactly boring. It wasn't a formal therapy session, but I don't see what's wrong with listening to a patient."

The American shook his head. "He talks about Russia a lot to piss the staff off. No one here likes the place, so it's a big slap to the face when this guy goes on about how Russia is better than anywhere else. Everyone who's worked with him gave up after a while. They look for vital pieces of his past, and all they get is a nationalistic raving. It's not a coincidence either—this guy knows what makes them mad, and he seems to enjoy exercising that knowledge."

"It didn't bother me," Toris replied simply. "But then… if it's as you say, I guess that's why he got confused yesterday. He told me I was difficult, but then he told me I was different. Perhaps he was just trying to overcome the language barrier—he's coherent, but it's still hard to understand him sometimes."

"Hm, probably."

The two finished their bagels before reached the end of the hall where the stairwell was.

"I have to go this way. See you later, Toris."

He nodded but stopped, remembering. "Hey, Alfred… Isn't today your last day?"

He blinked. "Oh yeah, you remembered! I suppose it is. Shame, since we just met and all." He tilted his head and Toris was surprised to see how disappointed he looked.

"I guess so." He offered a reassuring smile. "We can still keep in touch—I don't mind. I can tell you how things are going over here while you tell me about America. It's an interesting place, isn't it?"

Alfred chuckled light-heartedly. "Hey man, you don't have to pretend you're interested in my home country. You've already done enough of that with Ivan, haven't you? But yeah—I'd like to keep in touch, sounds nice. It'll be good for us, you know? Being alone in this place will drive you crazy and I'd hate to see you end up like the rest of the staff."

Toris returned the laugh, resting his hand on the railing. "So who's worse? Ivan, or the people who work here?"

"Heh, I'll leave that up to you. Hopefully I'll see you later! Good luck on your next session."

-x-X-x-

"Good morning, Ivan," Toris greeted as the door shut behind him.

"Mmh, privyet." The mattress groaned when Ivan sat up, his eyes tired-looking and his hair a bed-ridden mess. "You brought something," he observed quietly.

Toris nodded, kneeling beside the end of the bed. The food from last night was left on the floor—otherwise it was untouched like Toris expected. He took out the foam takeout box he had brought into the room and dumped the rancid meal of bread and some unknown spread into its plastic bag. He tied it shut to prevent any more of the odor from coming out.

"I brought it for you, but first, can I open the window? It's getting warm and the air is a bit stale."

Ivan looked lazily to the barred window. "The others do not like it open. Go ahead."

Apparently he was right, for Toris was soon swatting at the cloud of dust that resulted from pushing the panes up. "That's terrible. They can't just let the air ferment in here—you'll suffocate."

"But I am still alive, unfortunately." Ivan pushed some of the sheets aside and landed his bare feet on the cold floor. "What have you brought for me?"

"Oh, right!" Ivan watched as his caretaker rushed back to his package and lifted it to the bed. "You don't like the food here right? I suppose you don't, since the food looks atrocious." He worked on getting the foam lid open, apparently having trouble with trying to get a foam tab from it's slit.

Ivan was thrown into speechlessness when Toris finally got the lid open. He was greeted by a pungent smell of meat and herbs—things that the facility's meals distinctly lacked. Inside the box were three rows of still-steaming dumplings, neatly laid down side-by-side. "You…"

Toris looked down, almost embarrassed and Ivan didn't even have the slightest clue why. He had brought him art in the form of food—his _favorite_ food. "I know I should've asked you first, but you told me you missed your country, and you didn't seem to like the meals here very much. This is called _pierogi_ in Russia, right? I've always known it as _koldunai_, but either way, it's a dish I have plenty of experience with."

It took almost all his willpower and fear of drugging to keep him from digging into the food. "You… you cook, Toris?" He noticed the abundance of food and two forks laying neatly in the tray.

Toris nodded, a faint smile curving his lips. "I cook, yes, but whether I'm good or not will be up to you."

"It looks wonderful," he said in admiration before he could stop himself. "Ah… we will be eating from the same plate?"

Toris looked stunned for a split second. "Oh, I forgot!" He looked towards the bag full of soiled food, his cheeks deepening in color. "I brought everything but the plates… I suppose so. Uhm, you don't mind do you?" He looked flustered asking.

Well, it wasn't a problem for him. His request to share the same plate to prove his trustworthiness froze on his tongue. Ivan only shook his head and Toris handed him a fork, that strange smile of his returning to his face.

"I've not had Russian food in long time…" Ivan murmured, taking the fork with both hands. To his horror, a painful lump was forming in his throat and Ivan quickly stabbed a pierogi and forked it into his mouth. Toris seemed pleased by this, assuming that Ivan was just eager to eat something, especially after skipping dinner.

Perhaps he was—the food tasted even better than it smelled. The succulent meat and potato filling burst into his mouth when he bit into the dumpling, almost shivering in delight. He chewed slowly, trying to savor the taste even though several more pieces were left in the box.

"It is… good." It was certainly an understatement, but Ivan didn't want to make a fool out of himself by gushing out his pure delight. He forked another dumpling into his mouth.

Toris seemed grateful for the comment, however, and flashed him another smile. "Thank you, I hope it doesn't taste too strange."

"No." His voice was muffled and he swallowed before going on, "It reminds me of… my sister…" His words grew fainter and Ivan lowered the fork, staring down at his lap. "My sister… Yekaterina."

The lump returned but Ivan guessed it was from swallowing his food too fast. His eyes burned, but that was solely from the breeze outside—nothing else.

Concerned, Toris lowered his fork as well. He reached out and took one of those cold hands within his own, squeezing it comfortingly. "Deep breaths," he suggested softly.

Ivan bit his lip—he didn't even bother denying the splitting pain in his chest. Of course Toris did not know—he did not understand. This was the first time he remembered his dearly beloved sister's name during a waking moment. Following Toris's advice, he took deep breaths to clear his swimming mind.

Before he knew it, Toris was sitting on the bed with him, one of soft hands pressed to his forehead. "You look dizzy… Do you feel sick, Ivan?"

"_Nyet…_ It is okay, it is only from the medicine," he lied. He lifted his gaze only to find those bright green eyes staring deep into him. It was those _accursed_ eyes. They were the same! They had the same foresty depths that drew him in, offering him comfort without freedom.

His excuse only caused Toris's frown to deepen as his brows furrowed. "Still? Did it bother you too much last night? I hope you got enough sleep—you're eyes are so tired."

Everything. Everything this man did reminded Ivan of _him_.

"It is normal, Toris. Let us keep eating, _da?" _He pulled his hand away from that gentle touch and took up his fork again. He added, "You're cooking is too good to be wasted."

"Oh… thank you." He started to eat again as well, if a bit half-heartedly.

The two finished their meal in silence. When the last pierogi was gone, Toris closed the box up again and reopened the plastic bag, stuffing more trash into it.

Ivan tilted his head, finding himself observing the younger one doing even the simplest of activities. He couldn't help but notice how Toris's hair and skin seemed to brighten in the morning light while his eyes caught the rays, reminding him of green marbles. Ivan caught himself and looked away, slightly ashamed.

"Why do you do this to me?" He whispered.

Toris looked up as he finished dumping the bag on the tray. "Do what?"

Ivan mentally slapped himself and quickly shook his head. "Nothing, never mind me." Searching for a way to change the topic, he asked, "Are you leaving?"

"For a bit, I'll be back at lunch time."

For some reason, Ivan felt his heart fall as he drew his legs back onto the bed. "I see." He laid his arms over his own stomach, feeling satiated for once. "It is you who will come back?"

Toris straightened his back and took the tray up into his arms. "Of course. Do you get any other visitors?"

"_Nyet_. No visitors."

He watched Toris brushed some of the hair out of his face with the back of his hand. "Oh, it'll just be me then. I hope you aren't sick of me," he said light-heartedly.

The sheets twisted between Ivan's hands as he scooted back in bed. "No, not sick…" he mumbled. "Will you… bring more food?" He almost hated how hopeful he sounded—he must seem silly to Toris.

But Toris didn't laugh or chide him. He only gave him that same smile—a gesture that wasn't given out of pity or mockery.

"If you don't mind me bringing every one of your meals. I don't think I can get you to eat the food here."

"I like your cooking…" Ivan told him, feeling foolish. "I do not mind."

Toris fished his card key out of his pocket before stepping towards the door. "It's nice, cooking for someone again… Well! I'll see you later, Ivan."

"Ah, good bye.."

The Lithuanian flashed him another grin and left. The room grew quiet and lifeless again when the door clicked shut.

A gust of wind blew into the room. There were no curtains or blinds hung up to mar the wind, but Ivan didn't mind the cool breeze the open window allowed him.

"He forgot to close it…" He shivered and drew the blankets close around him, huddling back in bed.

-x-X-x-

"_'Dear Mr. Laurinaitis, you have one overnight shift on Sunday._ _If you need details, please ask Mr. Alfred Jones. – Morta Lanka._'" Toris read the note he found on his desk aloud. "Well… At least she's giving me a two-day notice…"

"Woah, they're already handing you one of the toughest jobs. Sucks being an intern, huh?"

Toris whirled around, almost elbowing the other in the face. "Alfred! You can't just sneak up on people and read their private notes!"

"Hey, sorry man. You're the one who was reading it out loud." He grinned. "So."

It was hard to believe this guy was a couple years ahead of him. "So?"

"Need details?"

Toris gave him a strange look before realizing what he was talking about. "Oh right. Details. I guess so, since no one's mentioned anything about a late-night shift yesterday."

"You mean an _overnight_ shift. Big difference—one brings you a little closer to dropping dead."

"That's a nice thought… an overnight shift then."

"That's right, so listen up," he started. "So we have an infirmary wing here, it's arranged similar to a hospital. Have you been there? No? Well there's a first time for everything. We have some special cases here—whether a guy needs consistent treatment or he's just sick, they take him to the infirmary and occasionally, the overnight room. During the day, it's the nurses that take care of them, but it's the regular asylum workers who watch them at night.

"It's a really tough job, Toris, I'm not joking. You're standing in one room for an entire night to tend to the inmates' needs. It takes a lot out of you, but it's a crucial part to your internship. You need a lot of experience with this to advance in the psychology field. Chances are, you'll be receiving a lot more of these shifts in the future. It's so strange though…" He frowned at him, thinking. "Normally they wait to see if their newly-hired intern in competent enough to pull an all-nighter. We all take turns with the shift but it isn't rare if the guys dump the work on you. Being an intern, you'll just have to deal with it. So it's… Sunday, right? Great, you have two days. Make sure you get a lot of sleep, bring some coffee and a book to read or something."

Toris nodded, showing that he understood. "Thanks, Alfred. I'm sorry I don't know much about the procedures. It's your last day though, and I don't want you to feel like you have to look after me."

Alfred waved a hand. "Hey, it's no problem. I'm still here, aren't I? It's part of my job to give a heads-up to all the new guys. It's kind of like they say. The more you teach, the more you learn—something like that. But it's too bad I haven't been learning that much—you're the first intern I've seen this facility hire. We're losing more doctors by the month. They're even planning to ship a number of inmates out to lighten the workload on the staff here."

Toris didn't expect that. Frowning, he asked, "I'm the first one here…?"

Alfred nodded. "The first. It's not that hard to believe actually. They have a set of requirements for new hands here. You need experience in a regular mental ward before you can transfer to a criminal ward. Why work with people who can potentially strangle you when you can just take care of people a little touched in the head? I've taken a look at your application, Toris, and as far as I know, you have none—formally anyway. I'm guessing the rules can be bent a little for interns. It's not like this is a fixed job or anything; you're just like me. Do you know how long your internship lasts?"

"It's eighteen months I think… But the period can be split if I need to start attending classes again. I'll only need to work during vacation months if that's the case."

"Technically, you're not supposed to be here… But I think they're desperate for workers. It's a guess that when you're a doctor, you'll come back here for work. The more people they hire, the more people they can take into the facility, and then the more money the government will give to them. You're going to be under a lot of pressure, but if you do a good job, your future's secured."

Toris thought about Kaunas. He needed the work here—he already rejected recommendations to the facilities there. "I can deal with it." He laughed a little. "I think I'm used to taking up other people's workload—this won't be much of a problem."

"I wish I could still help out, but there isn't much I can do overseas."

"Yeah…" Toris sighed, tucking the note away in one of the drawers. He found it to be a shame that Alfred was leaving so early. He seemed to be the only speck of life in this dreary building he'll be stuck in for one and a half years. "At the end of the day, do you need some help packing up? I honestly don't mind."

He expected him to either deny or accept his help, but he didn't actually expect the blonde to start coughing suddenly.

"W-what? No, or course not! I mean, I don't have that much stuff, so it's alright. Thanks though!" He looked over his shoulder and laughed nervously. "Hey, I think Lanka wanted me to take care of some paperwork the hospital sent us yesterday. I'll talk to you later, okay, Toris? Hopefully I can catch you before you go home for the night, bye!"

"E-eh, what—?" He started but Alfred had already dashed off, leaving Toris in his bewilderment.

-x-X-x-

The rest of the morning went by smoothly and Toris brought leftovers from his apartment. Ivan didn't seem to mind eating pierogi again, but he did reject Toris when he offered him the medicine.

"_Nyet_, last night was enough."

Toris promised him dinner and Ivan eventually changed his mind, if a bit begrudgingly.

The afternoon passed quickly and it wasn't long before Toris brought in another batch of food for the third time that day. The receptionist had nothing but odd looks to give him.

"It's for a patient. People tend to open up more if you feed them real food," he explained as he passed through. The lady only wrinkled her nose at the unfamiliar smell of moist bread and onions.

Ivan, however, seemed to be delighted when Toris brought him the pirozhki. He broke open the loaf and licked up its gooey filling. He lacked the composure he showed from this afternoon and morning, but he soon stopped eating when he noticed that Toris was just sitting there, quietly waiting for him to finish.

"You do not eat?"

"It's not poisoned."

Ivan shook his head and offered one of the halves to Toris. "It is not what I mean. My sister told me it is rude to eat in front of another who is not."

Toris shook his head, trying to push the food away but Ivan only insisted. He finally gave in and accepted it, eating his own baking slowly. "Thank you.."

"You cook it." Ivan shrugged. "You do not enjoy it as much as you should, Toris. I've taken your medicine, are you not happy?"

He wasn't anywhere near hungry, but he pushed himself to finish the food. "It's not that… I think I've upset someone, even though I didn't mean to."

Ivan huffed and fell back against the mattress, holding his stomach. "You worry yourself over that." He scoffed. "You are too kind, Toris. Others will take advantage? Others will take advantage of you like this."

For the third time, he watched as Toris cleaned up and packed the trash away in a plastic bag. "You can't blame me for thinking."

Ivan went on, "Like I said, you are too kind—too kind to upset anyone. Is there something else on your mind?"

Toris went over to shut the window for the night, looking over his shoulder. "You seem curious today," he said, smiling slightly. Ivan looked away.

"I am just asking."

"There's nothing wrong with that." He walked over to the bed again, picking up the tray. "In a couple days, I'll have to stay here for the whole night. I think I'll be able to do it, but I can't guarantee it." It seemed silly to share his work schedule with his own patient—it wasn't like Ivan really cared, but it was a tiny relief to at least say his worries out loud.

"Ah, all night?" He cocked his head and lifted a hand, beckoning the intern closer. "…There is a door at the end of the bottom right hall, did you know?"

He was telling him strange things again. Maybe he was just being random again, or maybe he was testing him. "A what—?" Toris asked but he was cut off when Ivan took a hold of his collar to pull him down closer.

Ivan's cold breath in his ear sent chills down his spine. He tried his best not to shudder in his grip.

"Stay away from it."

**- - x - X - x - -**

_The flashback at the beginning of the chapter takes place after Ivan returns home from his deployment in the peace corps, which means he was 19-20 years old ;) He's 24 years old when he meets Toris, who's 21. _

_Someone pointed out that the procedures for internship are different in several countries. I'm basing my knowledge off my bro who volunteers at a hospital. The only difference is that he works at a normal medical facility, not a criminal ward haha. Things are probably going to be different, so forgive me orz. Also, some of you may be wondering about Ivan's strange form of speech and his inconsistent tenses. I would think he doesn't know much about the colloquial side of Lithuanian, but definitely enough to survive in the country. That's why he sounds so formal compared to everyone else._

_This chapter is a tad longer than the previous two, and it took much longer. Though... mostly because a sex god named Evgeni Plushenko has been distracting me for the past five days. God, I love that man. Anyways, I would've had this chapter out by Sunday, but then I got distracted. Totally worth it._

_Again, reviews are immensely appreciated. Feedback helps me improve. Love!_


	4. Names

_**Author: **__Kaisre   
__**Rating: **__T    
__**Summary: **__Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **__Lithuania // Toris, Russia // Ivan_

_

* * *

_

_**- Lamentia -**_

_**- IV -**_

_**

* * *

**_

"Moskovskaya. Full bottle."

The bartender didn't seem to hear him properly when he turned to face Ivan, a bushy brow arched. "A full bottle?"

Ivan slapped the bills on to the bar top and the man just shrugged, leaning down to take the money. He fished around for something behind the counter, pulling out a fresh bottle of vodka. He cracked the lid off and handed it to him.

"You have a designated driver?"

"I'll not be driving home." The bartender walked away to serve more drinks and Ivan took a long drag from the bottle. The liquid burned his throat but it numbed the pain within his chest. He could feel his cheeks flush with the newfound warmth—at least it was something.

Evening dimmed to night and the saloon grew packed. Men were shoving each other for the best seats and tables. Ivan had no intention of budging from his stool, but no one bothered him about it either. Glazed eyes stared out the window as his glass bottle was lifted to and away from his lips in a mechanical fashion.

The life of the bar was nothing but a buzz to his ears. His vodka was a third gone and Ivan settled with leaning his weight against the bottle.

_I want to disappear._

The polished wooden top of the bar looked welcoming in his eyes, inviting him to fall asleep with a bottle in hand. Even though his heart and body were weary, Ivan had no intention to make himself look like a pitiful heap.

After filling two jugs of beer, the bartender came back to him, wiping his dirty hands on an equally soiled towel. While just standing there, the middle-aged man surveyed the young Russian up and down without scrutiny.

"You look like you gonna cry."

Ivan snorted. "Whatever… I haven't even drunken that much." He took another drag. As he lowered the bottle, he couldn't help but notice how stunned the bartender looked when he saw that a third of its contents were gone.

"You a soldier?"

He grimaced, sloshing around what was left of the vodka. "Used to be. How did you know?"

The man wrung the rag one last time before tossing it aside. "We have the boys slowly coming back to us now… Some are still sent away. They've all come to age so they choose to go here, this place right here, to drink their away their sadness. I've seen that look too many times. 'Know it well—and I know they've lost more than their innocence down south."

Ivan didn't say anything to that. He only continued to swooshed his drink around, intently watching the tiny bubbles form on the rim.

The bartender continued talking to him, "The ones left alone are the worst. Their girlfriends find another man, and the boys sob their hearts out while they drown in vodka. They don't care about pride or dignity or anything. The war takes that too, and the government don't care that its kids that are fighting a western war. What position are you?"

Ivan blinked slowly—his sight assuming a tint of red. Strange, he wasn't even close to his limit yet. "Peace-corps. They said I was a peacekeeper."

"Peace? They call a man with a gun a peacekeeper nowadays?"

He shrugged. The notion did seem ridiculous to him as well, but he didn't care what this man had to say about the system. Especially when his stomach was churning like the liquid inside the bottle. The painful throbbing in the back of his head didn't seem to help his mood either. He took another sip and the lights of the saloon brightened, burning into his eyes. Figuring it wasn't worth it to keep the rest, he slid the bottle across the counter top. Standing up, he swayed on the spot, keeping a hand on the bar to keep himself steady.

The bartender lifted a brow. "Capping it?"

"Obviously," Ivan replied brusquely. Finding various supports, he eventually made the short distance to the door.

"Don't stumble into the streets! You be damned if you survive deployment to get run over."

He couldn't help but grin to himself bitterly, leaving the saloon.

The chill of the night embraced his neck like a collar as he stumbled down the sidewalks, pressing a hand to the brick walls to keep steady. The few people still out in the streets either spared him a look of distaste or just kept to themselves, passing by and bumping shoulders.

The noise of the bar faded into silence when Ivan staggered under the quiet veranda of a classic café. As far as he could tell, the building was empty, save for a young man who was typing away on a laptop under a golden-lit lamp. He didn't seem to notice Ivan right away, apparently too focused on whatever he was working on.

Ivan cursed his lack of solitude and reached for a chair to rest on, only to have his entire world swerve to the side in a blur. Apparently, he missed the chair when the paved ground collided with his face. He heard a dull crunch but felt no pain as he lay there, finding no point in getting back up. Perhaps he really did have too much to drink this time.

He heard iron legs scrape against stone and he prayed in his head that the man would just ignore him, or better yet, just not notice his blunder at all. However, it proved useless when a pair of hands grasped his shoulders, helping him into a sitting position.

"Alio? Are you okay?"

The unfamiliar word made it surprising that this person spoke perfect Russian. Ivan tried to pull away from him, only to have his back come up against a stone-cold barrier. He must look pathetic—stumbling and falling down like a fool who couldn't hold his alcohol. He shied away from the unwanted attention he brought to himself.

"'Mm fine…" He groaned softly. Something warm trickled onto his lips and a tongue automatically poked out to lap up some of the drops. He shivered at the metallic taste.

"Ah, you've been drinking and now you're bleeding." Something dabbed away at his nose and Ivan didn't bother protesting, though it did make him the slightest bit uncomfortable. "That's dangerous you know? It's also dangerous walking out alone when you're drunk."

"'Not drunk…"

The stranger didn't argue with him when he heaved Ivan's weight onto the nearby chair properly—the one he missed in the first place. "You're still bleeding." More dabbing. Two fingers pinched the bridged oh his nose, and whoever is was tilted his head back. Ivan swallowed the blood pooling in his throat.

The stranger left him only to come back, placing a small stack of napkins on the glass top. "Can you see me?"

Ivan wasn't one for talking while he was under the influence, but he still appreciated the softness of the other's voice. He tried to reach for a napkin, missing his target again, but the young man took and fit one into his hands.

He couldn't say he couldn't see his face, but he couldn't focus on it either. His vision wavered and tilted, as if his head was rolling back and forth. The men from the labs and hospital warned him about this.

'_You're a danger to yourself and others.'_

His heart raced and Ivan clutched his chest, as if he were afraid this man would hear its frantic beating.

'_You wouldn't want anything to happen to your sisters, would you?'_

The air seemed to escape him when his lungs tightened considerably. He moaned and doubled over, clutching his middle and hiding his sweating face. This was what they were talking about—it was definitely no exaggeration.

It was clear to him now—these effects weren't from the alcohol. Maybe the war will actually come back to him this time. The scenes of carnage and burning flesh were fresh in his mind—an inch short of reality.

'_Stay here.'_

'_You cannot afford any more accidents.'_

'_What do you remember?'_

Ivan curled his body tighter, his hands flying to pull at his hair, as if he could distract himself from the voices. "I-I don't…"

An arm draped over his shoulders, keeping him from falling out of his chair. "Are you all right?" It was that person again. Why hasn't he left yet? "Stay here, I'll call—" Ivan didn't give him a chance to finish when he shoved him away, standing up and sending the chair toppling to the ground in a deafening crash.

"No!" He shouted, covering his face and trying to get away from the café as fast as he could. His knee collided with something hard, and he fell the ground again. On all fours, he tried his best to scramble away. The yellow light from the café faded away from behind him, replaced by a blood-red sunset. His fingers were sifting through sand now as he desperately groped around for his gun.

He was alone, and he didn't even have his gun with him. After coming all this way, his life was going to end here. Turning his chin up to the shadow looming over him, he snarled.

The blurry shape reached out to him and Ivan finally found a pistol half-buried beneath the sand. He whipped it out and thread his finger through the loop of the trigger, pointing it up at the dark mass. He prepared to pull the fatal shot when his sister appeared beside him, her strong arms restraining his own and keeping him from aiming properly.

"Y-Yekaterina… this is no place for you!"

Her hold did not give way. _'Ivan, it's morning. Wake up…'_

The stifling heat of the desert vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by the cold and heavy air of Moscow. His body shuddered violently, and he realized that his hands were empty now when they pressed against the pavement. A wave of ice surged upwards inside of him, forcing its way out his throat.

He retched, his head bobbing up and down as he emptied his stomach's contents on the curb of the sidewalk. The horrible stench of acid and alcohol mixed together overwhelmed his senses and he keeled over. He prepared to hit the earth a third time when someone caught him, wasting no time in pulling him to his feet.

The shock he just experienced made it impossible to comprehend what was going on around him. He felt varying levels of gravity, until finally, he felt nothing but weightlessness and the warmth of another body.

In almost no time at all, he was carefully pulled from a car, the audible shut of the door sharp in his ears.

A stranger was leading him up a stone path. In his stupor, Ivan risked opening his eyes just a little bit. The other leaned his computer against stucco walls before fishing around in his pocket for his keys. He unlocked the door and pushed it open with his shoulder, entering and taking Ivan with him. His strength to support him this long surprised him.

The Russian was greeted by a subtle, but sweet smell. He had no strength to turn his neck and observe his new surroundings but the other took him to the closest sofa, setting him down carefully. He went back to turn the lights on, but thought better of it, returning to Ivan's side.

"Where… where am I?"

"It's my apartment," the stranger replied slowly and gently, minding the headache Ivan must be feeling.

"This is not…" Ivan tried to sit up, only to have the other press him back down again. "This is not necessary. I-I am not drunk."

"Maybe not." A soft hand slid over his forehead, under his damp bangs. Ivan found himself relaxing at the touch—his cramped muscles loosened and he realized this was the first gesture of comfort he was given in a long time. "But I can't let you out in this shape. How can I? You're a mess—leaking blood and vodka."

He was confused to find a whine was trapped within his throat when his source of comfort was pulled away. A heavy throw was draped over him to replace the missing warmth. Ivan found himself cuddling into its softness, despite the unfamiliar smell. "Thank you…" he whispered hesitantly, unsure if he should continue accepting his help.

Even in his dizziness, Ivan swore he could see the faintest of smiles in the darkness, accompanied by the brightest glint of green. "Please don't think of it… Where is your home? I can take you back tomorrow, if you're ready."

Ivan would've laughed at that if he could. Like this person would let him stay under his roof if he wished it. "No where, but I won't burden you any more. Let me leave—you shouldn't be bothered." He made another move to get up- if a bit more reluctant this time- but the other gently pushed him down again.

"It's too late. You won't have as bad of a hangover if you go to sleep now. I live here alone—it's fine, so stay." He pulled the throw up to cover Ivan's neck, shielding the skin from the cool air of the apartment.

He remained where he was, his body adjusting to the comfort despite his inner protest. "But…"

The hand resumed it's place on Ivan's forehead and he sighed. "You're warm… Some of the alcohol is still in your system. Please rest, alright?"

He realized the other wasn't going to incline to him, no matter how much he demurred with his actions. "…Ivan," he croaked abruptly, feeling like he was giving in, "My name is Ivan Braginsky."

That smile seemed clear to him now, the young man's eyes brightening even in the dark. "Ivan… It's a nice name." He stood up gradually and Ivan forced his face upwards to follow those gentle orbs. "Sleep now, I'll have coffee for you in the morning." He turned to leave.

Ivan ignored the stake of pain in his skull when he lurched forward, grabbing the stranger by his sleeve. "Wait—! I mean…" he quickly let go, realizing what he was doing. "W-who are you? What's your name?"

The curve of the lips was defined in the darkness, imprinting itself into his wavering sight. "Can I really tell you at the moment? You may not remember in the morning, and I may feel strange reminding you…"

His arm retreated back under the blankets. "I won't forget. _Please_." He planned to leave first thing in the morning, but he didn't want to escape without this man's name. He was already in his debt, even though he felt uneasy recognizing that.

"Well, Ivan, I guess it's only fair…"

He didn't realize he had been holding his breath until he sighed in relief.

"…Try not to forget, all right?" He nodded, even though the other probably couldn't notice.

"My name…" He took a breath, pausing as if he were rethinking his decision. "My name is Liet."

-x-X-x-

_What is your name again…?_

"Ivan? Can you hear me? It's almost noon…"

The moment he cracked his eyes open, something wet and warm flooded his vision. Letting out a startled groan, he turned his face away and buried it into the blankets, surprised to find that he was gripping onto a fluffy, multi-colored quilt. Someone must've laid it over him while he had been sleeping. Who could have—oh… right.

He said it was almost noon, so how long had he overslept? He hoped Toris wasn't here for too long. He didn't want to feel like his privacy had been intruded on, but what privacy did he have in this place anyway? He was not in Moscow—quite far from it actually.

"I came here in the morning with your breakfast," Toris said, answering his unspoken question, "I waited for you to wake up, but you didn't.. So I left. I came back again just a little bit ago."

"Nnh…"

A hand brushed against his hair when the mattress bobbed. Ivan didn't push it away.

"Go back to sleep, okay? You probably do need it. I'll be back in a little bit for brunch, unless you're hungry right now, of course."

"_Nyet_." Ivan turned his head, thankful that his eyes were dry now. He took a hold of that hand, preventing Toris from going anywhere. He couldn't help but remember a similar scene like this in the distant corners of his mind. "Don't go.. You have already left, yes?"

Toris blinked, and Ivan was afraid for a moment that he would pull himself away. Instead, the Lithuanian sat himself back down slowly. His hand remained in Ivan's grasp but he didn't seem uncomfortable with the physical contact.

"I saw you had a small fit in your sleep…" Toris admitted quietly. "But you were only talking in Russian. Yekaterina… She's your sister, isn't she?"

Ivan rolled over to face him properly. He didn't want Toris to see anything, but strangely enough, knowing he did didn't even bother him. "_Da_… she is…"

Toris's fingers were soft—almost delicate—in his hold. He curiously lifted his hand and pressed the other's palm against his own forehead.

Toris didn't say anything, but Ivan could tell he was certainly confused.

"…" He shifted wordlessly.

"Uhm, are you feeling unwell?"

"No, not unwell." He lowered the hand while still holding onto it, letting his own lay on top of it. Digits wiggled and found their way between each other, intertwining.

Toris inched closer to him and Ivan automatically sat himself up a little.

His hand squeezed back slightly. "There was something bad in your dream, wasn't it? Your whole dream wasn't a nightmare, only a tiny part of it, right?"

He nodded, silently surprised that he got that part right. "How do you know?"

He smiled, lifting his free hand to the front of Ivan's face. "Don't worry, it happens to me too." Every finger folded into the palm except for the pointer. "Ivan, can you look at me? Focus on my eyes, all right?"

Ivan nodded again, the other's vivid irises having no problem capturing his attention. The single finger began to move back and forth slowly, but he couldn't be distracted. This went on for several seconds and Ivan could feel the drowsiness of sleep return to him. His body grew heavy, but it didn't sink back beneath the quilt—Toris's gaze prevented him from doing so.

"_Imagine the place where you came from._" Ivan almost missed that subtle change in his voice. "_You don't have to tell me what it is, but just picture it."_

He saw the pictures in his mind's eye reflect back at him from Toris's viridian depths. There was a humble house with a yard filled with tall, yellow flowers. Two young women stood at the front of the path, waving slowly at him. There was another figure too, standing to the side. It wasn't waving, but its shadowy arms were outstretched in an empty embrace.

"_Does that place make you happy?_"

Ivan murmured a small "_Da"_.

"_Does it make you feel safe?_"

Ivan gave the same answer and the finger came to a stop. A warm thumb began to rub circles into the back of his hand.

"_What is keeping you from that place? Picture it in front of your imagination_."

The iron gate weaved itself into view like black thorns, marring his image of happiness, just like the bars running up and down outside his window.

Toris's other hand grew even closer to his face. "_Ivan, focus on my hand now._"

He did as he was told without much thought to it, and the finger began moving back and forth again, going in an occasional loop.

"_I want you to think about the object keeping you away from happiness._"

Ivan did that too. The gate opened and the shadow stepped out from behind it. Toris's movements turned erratic and Ivan had to work his eyes in order to keep up.

His chest constricted and the finger stopped. "_Where does it hurt?_"

Hesitantly, Ivan lifted a hand to lay on top of his heart.

"_Close your eyes and breath deeply_." Ivan did so and warmth wrapped itself around the hand, embracing it securely. With every breath he took, his chest loosened, and he felt lighter than he's ever felt.

Both of his hands were pulled together, both held by Toris now. "Does it still hurt anywhere else?"

Ivan shook his head and opened his eyes slowly, the trace-like impression fading. Toris gave him a smile and Ivan gradually returned it.

"What… what did you do?" He asked, still experiencing that liberating sensation within his core.

"I had you face your dreams properly. You saw the parallels between your imagination and your dreams, right?"

"How did you…?" He didn't need to finish when Toris chuckled light-heartedly at his look of incredulity.

"I only guessed, Ivan. The details don't matter. You feel better, don't you?"

He nodded, looking down at their conjoined hands. "Da…" he admitted sheepishly. Toris made it sound and look so easy, so _simple_. Maybe it was easy to understand for him, but even Ivan's own feeling of weightlessness surprised him. "Thank you…" he said shyly, "No one has done something like this to me before…"

His hands were rubbed and stroked between Toris's, prolonging his sense of ease. "Maybe others have their own methods."

"Ah, like poisoning me?"

Ivan regretted saying that when that smile faltered, straightening into a frown. Toris continued to handle his hands gently. "You never told me why the medicine bothers you."

Ivan didn't answer him right away, but he wasn't rushed or pushed into replying either—he had to give Toris that. "…They do not make me feel human." His gaze rested on the other's chest, avoiding eye-contact with him. "They make me sick sometimes. They are not like you, Toris—they do not make me feel better." He paused to find the right words, "I feel alone and… isolated? I feel even more isolated than I already am. You do not expect me to enjoy that, do you?"

Toris shook his head. "I guess I can't." He stood up, his hands finally sliding away. "I'll be back, okay? I'll be back with your medicine and lunch."

His stomach lurched as he clenched the sheets between his fingers. "No medicine. You are enough, da?" He frowned, "I do not need it. I am not—" He stopped, biting his tongue to prevent himself from going on. _Crazy_…

He was. Toris had told him otherwise, but he wasn't blind.

A look of sympathy flashed across his face, but Toris hid it well. "I'll tell them not to give you as much, I promise. Don't think about it too much… I cooked for you again today, this morning actually." He smiled at him again but Ivan didn't return it this time.

"_Da_… I'll wait for you, Toris…" his voice grew oddly quiet at the end. He tugged at the heavy blanket that was still wrapped around his lower body. "This is yours, yes?"

The younger man nodded. "It's for the therapy sessions. Please keep it—it'll do much better than what you had before."

"Spasiba…" He shrugged the cover over his shoulders, wrapping it around himself tightly. "'Is warm…" he murmured.

That seemed to please Toris enough. "You're welcome.. Now I'll be right back, wait for me, okay?" He cast one look over his shoulder before leaving the second time that day.

Ivan stared after him, painfully wishing he could follow. That day would never come to him however and even he knew that.

His chest began to constrict again after Toris left. His deep heartbeat was like a drum in his ears, and he fell back against his pillow, curling up.

A shudder ran throughout him and he lifted a few fingers to his lips, his lips that were moving without his permission.

"_That man will die soon_." There was a slightly euphoric note to his own voice, and Ivan hated it. He clenched his eyes shut, burying under the new blanket Toris gave him. "_And I'll be blamed for it again—it's always the same_."

"…Shut up.."

"_If only he could see me now. What would he say? I sincerely wonder~" _A giggle ruptured from his throat and Ivan almost choked on it. He covered his mouth and bit his tongue. His voice came to a stop, but he could still hear his own words within his head.

Shoving his knee into his mouth, Ivan waited in excruciating silence.

-x-X-x-

The afternoon passed slowly. Ivan had taken the medicine without protest when Toris offered it to him. He planned to ask him about last night but thought better of it when Ivan barely answered his attempts at a conversation. Afterwards, he made no progress and Toris found it useless to stay around longer than what was necessary. He soon left to do a number of errands assigned to him.

His workload for the day was expectantly higher since Alfred wasn't around to share the work. The building seemed all the more foreboding without the American's charisma to brighten it. During his several trips between offices to deliver papers and memos, Toris noticed that there was slightly more life downstairs. However, seeing people amble about the almost-empty building didn't do much to console him. Everyone was faceless to him—the place was just, plainly speaking, lifelessly dull.

After finishing his assigned list of phone calls to make, his superior sent him to the furthest end of the building to deliver a stack of envelopes to a secluded file room, promising more work when he was done with sorting out the envelopes.

Alfred wasn't exaggerating—the other workers definitely weren't afraid to throw their errands onto his back. He was the intern after all.

Balancing the heavy stack of paper on his shoulders, Toris struggled to unlock the door to the filing room. He almost dropped everything he was holding when a voice suddenly snapped at him.

"Hey, you there! What are you doing?"

He instinctively pressed the envelopes to his chest defensively. "I'm going in to organize these… Is there a problem?"

He was faced by a middle-aged man who stood at around the same height of him, if not a little taller. His rough-looking hair was combed to the side and dark stubble littered his chin. He had a stretched, drawn look to his face.

Mud-brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. "There is no problem. I thought you were that annoying American transfer for a moment—as if catching him around here twice wasn't enough to make him stay away."

Toris instinctively read the other's name badge that hung around his neck. "You're… Marcel, aren't you?"

He chewed his lip, parched and tanned skin stretching. "Obviously. What's it to you?"

It didn't take long for Toris to wish that this guy would leave him alone and let him do his job. "Nothing. Alfred told me about you," he lied awkwardly.

"Oh really now? What'd he say? How much of a prick I am? Well maybe if he didn't poke his nose into other's business…" The suspicion in his voice deepened. "Are you friendly with him or something?"

"A-ah no…? We talked around, sometimes."

Marcel folded his arms over his broad chest, disbelieving. "Good," he said, even though it didn't look 'good'. "You're new here, aren't you? You shouldn't even have anything to do with that American. The whole facility distrusts him, and you should too. Don't listen to anything he has to say—it'll only get you into trouble. That's my advice to you, okay?"

Toris blinked, the files still held between his arms. He _really_ needed to get back to work, but now this person has just told him something strange. "Does it matter? Alfred doesn't work here anymore. Yesterday was his last day."

Marcel looked at him as if he were just about as sane as the inhabitants of the facility. "_He _told you that? Well that proves my point. I have no idea what you're talking about, but we're not that lucky to lose him. Anyway, get back to work. You're an intern, so you'll still want to make a good impression on us." He brushed past him without another word.

Toris stood in the same spot, even when the other man was out of sight.

_I don't… I don't get this. I haven't seen him around—of course he's gone! What was that guy even talking about?_

Deeply distracted, Toris set to organizing the files like he was supposed to. His mind elsewhere, he continued to read and file countless papers until it was time to see Ivan again.

**- - x – X – x - -**

_First note, Ivan's flashback continues from his last flashback/dream._

_For sure, I thought this chapter was going to be late. I felt like I couldn't get that much done, but turns out, I did :D Anyways, I have finals coming up so chapter five will probably be late. (I have three finals and one midterm in a school year. It kind of sucks) Well, I hope you guys can bear with me until then. I'm not happy with my writing at the moment, I feel a bit braindead. _

_Thank you for reading and reviewing!_


	5. Of Ghosts and Solitude

_**Author: **__Kaisre   
__**Rating: **__T    
__**Summary: **__Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **__Lithuania // Toris, Russia // Ivan  
_

**

* * *

**

- Lamentia -

**- V -  


* * *

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Ivan guessed it was noon by the time he woke up in a stranger's home.

So much for waking up early and leaving—perhaps he really was a bit drunk.

For a moment, he just sat there groggily, wondering if he should get up and see to the one who was clamoring around in the kitchen, or remain where he was until he was called upon. He patted himself down quickly, sighing in relief when he found that his wallet was still where he left it, as were the rest of his belongings that he carried around with him.

His obligatory headache bothered him to no end, making the whole decision-making process harder than it should be. If he remembered correctly, today was supposed to be a work day, and there was still another person in this strange house along with him. He grimaced in discomfort at the thought that someone had been wandering around in the morning hours while he was still asleep and drooling--with his guard down no less.

Why was he even putting up with this? The situation seemed less baffling to him last night. It was much easier for him to accept help while drunk, but now that it was daytime, everything was absolutely ridiculous. Another man taking him home without his consent, he couldn't even comprehend this person's motives. Forcing himself out of his comfortable position, Ivan got up and walked the short distance to what he guessed was the kitchen. Only when he was this close did he catch the strong waft of coffee.

The stranger from last night stood with his back to him. His milky-brown hair was strung up in a pony tail to keep it out of the way as he worked on a pot of black liquid. The stranger shifted around as he cleaned, accentuating his slender and lean figure as he hummed softly without a care in the world. Even though his face was turned away from him, Ivan could tell that this person was far from old—most likely his age, if not younger.

Swallowing thickly, Ivan stood at the doorway feeling foolish, for he didn't know what to do. However, it didn't take long for the smaller brunette to notice his reflection in the coffee pot he was swirling around. A look of surprise flashed across his eyes, but he turned around and gave Ivan a friendly smile despite the Russian's disheveled appearance.

"_Labas rytas._ Did you sleep well?" His voice had a nice sort of clarity and gentleness to it, Ivan noticed now that he wasn't ridiculously drunk. It reminded him of a rather motherly figure, or better yet, his older sister.

"Who are you…?" He scrunched up his face slightly, bowing his head down in deep thought. When he looked back up again, the other was looking at him expectantly, the smile still lingering in those vividly green eyes. "You're Liet."

The other man blinked, standing there in complete silence until he said, "You remember." His face remained in barely-hidden awe, as if Ivan somehow accomplished a difficult task.

Ivan frowned, narrowing his gaze suspiciously. He took a step closer towards him, but the other didn't back off. "Why did you take me in? How do you know I'm trustworthy enough for you to allow in your home. What if I attacked and killed you right here?"

The smile returned and Ivan felt a small spark of annoyance. He couldn't tell if he was dealing with a person who possessed endless kindness, or one who enjoyed patronizing him as if he were a mere child whose threats were less than credible. Liet gestured towards him with the pot of fresh coffee, the simmering liquid sloshing around within its glass confinement.

Ivan watched as the smaller man opened up a cupboard, stringing his finger through the handles of two mugs, and taking them from their place on the shelf. "I suppose that wouldn't be a good idea since I have a nice helping of scalding-hot coffee in my hands. Would you like some?" He began pouring a cup and the aroma grew stronger.

Ivan lost his composure for a second. He didn't understand this man in the slightest. "I-I—what?" He shook his head, instantly regretting it when his brain pounded back at him in protest. "…I suppose I will then, if it makes this damn headache go away."

The man named Liet nodded to a pair of chairs set around a breakfast table. Ivan hesitantly took a seat, feeling like he was just beaten in an argument. He brought him the empty mug and poured a generous amount into it, taking a sip from his own cup as well.

Liet took a seat on the other side of the circular table, holding the pleasantly-warm mug with both hands. Ivan took a careful sip, clicking his tongue at the strong taste. He continued drinking slowly while Liet stirred a helping of cream into his cup.

"You didn't answer my question. Why did you take me in?"

He continued stirring for a well-measured beat before answering, "It's my job…" He looked like he was about to laugh, but that look quickly disappeared. "Alright, I'll explain to you, Ivan." He paused to take another sip of his coffee. "I'm studying abroad from _Lietuvos_. Not many volunteer for service in _Rusija_… So it wasn't hard making it into the transfer program, though having a scholarship did make things less painful. I'm a student—and otherwise, I'm just a plain social worker for the less fortunate." He shrugged, setting his coffee down with a dull clank.

"You're young..." Ivan observed, realizing a little too late that his comment must've sounded odd. "I mean, I don't expect someone my age to take a drunk in… ah, never mind." He took a sip too quickly, burning the tip of his tongue.

The other nodded approvingly. "Your age…? I knew it. Your eyes are much too old for your age, Ivan." His smile returned, slightly bitter this time. "You had me fooled when I first saw you at the café. I've been to so many places—places ordinary men would never think about just to spare themselves of guilt or pain. I've seen the look, and it's always the same." He nodded towards him. "You don't go to a university, do you?"

His brief flash of insight made Ivan shudder in his seat. Was he so obvious and blunt, so easily read? "No, I was a soldier—maybe I still have a part of that in me. It complicates matters."

He nodded, stirring his coffee absentmindedly while he listened. "Do you live around here? If you'd like, I could take you back when you feel like it."

"I don't have a home," Ivan answered before he could stop himself. He grimaced and set his mug down, firmly grasping it with both hands. "I mean, not anymore... I don't live there anymore."

To his relief, Liet didn't ask him to elaborate. Instead, he made a soft noise, something similar to a sigh or huff. "I'm sorry. I've made you uncomfortable, haven't I? Sometimes I get carried away—it's a terrible habit I have."

Ivan shook his head, but he didn't say anything. The bitter coffee was helping. Even if it was just a little bit, he was still grateful for the much-needed relief. He took a larger sip this time as the liquid was cooling down.

The two continued to sit in silence—Liet seemed to be enjoying the peace while Ivan fidgeted in his seat uncomfortably. He had his gaze wander elsewhere to avoid feeling awkward and sooth his discomfort. The quarters were small, but not cramped or cluttered. The kitchen and dining room merged as a single room, while the living room was located just behind where they were sitting. There were few decorations or personal touches to the rooms, giving the entire place a temporary, yet welcoming feel.

Liet finished his cup and pushed it to the side, standing up. "How badly does your head hurt? I can get you some medicine."

Ivan started from his chair at the mention of drugs, but he only shook his head again. "I'm…" How was he supposed to explain his condition to someone he's just met? "I'm already on a prescription. It's best that I don't mix it with anything else, or at least, that's what my doctors say. Thank you though. You've done a lot for me, Liet, even if it is your job."

The other gathered his dishes, and Ivan's too when he finally finished. "You don't have to be so formal with me," he told him light-heartedly. He left the dishes in the sink and leaned against the kitchen counter, looking at him. "You could've gotten seriously hurt if I left you on the streets. I don't mean to insult you—you look like the type who can take care of himself, but I think everyone needs some help once in a while. Try not to drink as much next time though, all right?"

Ivan lowered his gaze. "I had a reason last night," he mumbled brokenly. He stood up slowly, preparing to leave. He took out his wallet and opened it, sorting through bills. "How much?"

For a moment, it seemed that Liet had no idea what he was talking about. It took him a second to realize Ivan's intentions. "What? No! I mean, please don't pay me. It honestly isn't necessary."

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "Does your transfer program require you to grant sanctuary under your own roof? You say it's your job, Liet, but even I can tell how far you've gone for a stranger. I have money, what else do you want from me?"

A streak of ire simmered in his forest eyes, but it was quickly quelled by genuine hurt. Liet didn't let it show in his voice, however. "I'm not a criminal," he said quietly. "I'm not the formal owner of this apartment either. You're right, my contract doesn't require me to shelter others—I'm supposed to call special services actually, not that you let me call anyone last night or anything. The rent is paid by my sponsors who hope that I will use all my resources to benefit society. I told you—I'm only a student and social worker." He swallowed and Ivan could tell that the other forced himself not to lash out.

"I don't understand your act," he said defensively. "I don't understand anything about you, and yet you can read me like an open book." He grasped his own arm tightly, shoving a distance between them.

"No, it's not like that. I…" Liet hesitantly approached him, looking as if he were torn between words. Ivan only backed away from him. His anger stirred as if it were trying to escape beyond his control.

_How can anyone ever understand, Ivan? Charity means nothing underneath—it is merely a façade. _

The Russian closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath. He reopened them to glare at the Lithuanian who stopped in his tracks.

"You what?" He seethed as his anger continued to simmer on its own. He knew he was pushing it, he knew that he was going to lose his grip, but he still went on. "Do you feel noble helping me? Or is there something else you want?"

_You've lost your comrades. Your sisters are gone, your home is gone. What else can you give?_

Liet took another step towards him, and this time, Ivan held his ground. "I didn't mean to upset you, but please calm down—"

_This one will take whatever you have left, and then he will disappear too._

"Shut up," Ivan hissed, backing up into a wall. "_Shut up,_ I don't need you—I never did. You've always dragged me down! You've fed me lies, you've controlled me, and now…" He hunched forward, angrily ripping at his hair. "Just... leave me alone." His voice broke.

Someone took his arm in a gentle, but firm grip. Then as if by magic, his agony immediately began to seep away like water. However, when he looked up, the pain in his heart was replaced by terror when he saw a dark shadow hover behind the other. Its form was transparent and hazy, its faceless head perched upon foggy shoulders. Its body rippled and distorted as it moved, but the image was clear enough for Ivan to make out its arms and legs.

Rippling arms wrapped around Liet's neck and Ivan gasped, both of his hands shooting forward to grab him by the forearms. "No, leave him alone…" He pleaded, staring up with stretched eyes.

Liet's mouth was moving, but his words were too far away for him to hear. It seemed like he was trying to comfort Ivan—to console him, but the Russian could see things the other could not. He knew things were not all right.

The black hands began to move over his lips and Ivan struggled against him, desperately shouting to warn him.

"—Ivan, it's all right.. There's no one else here." He gave the other a reassuring squeeze. Slowly, but surely, the shade began to recede much to Ivan's amazement. Liet was still standing before him, unharmed.

Ivan groaned faintly, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. His shouting left him without breath, but now that the danger was gone, the adrenaline gradually ebbed out of his system. He groaned again, realizing his situation. He's never felt this out-of-place in such a long time—how was he supposed to explain himself now? "I-I don't know…"

But Liet only hushed him. "You don't have to say anything, I won't ask you—everyone has their own reasons."

"It's not right." Ivan shook his head distractedly, straightening his back and pulling away from the other's grasp. "_I'm_ not right, and here you still are. I need to leave—I'm sorry, I've caused trouble."

He tried to flee, but the other only grabbed his arm again, and he didn't have the heart to push him away again.

"It's easy to run away," he said and Ivan turned to face him again. Liet held his gaze intently, and Ivan grew to believe it were those bottomless pools that captured his attention, that made him listen to what this man had to say. "But you can't always do that. You say you don't have a home, Ivan, but I know you'll find it again. There are people waiting for you to come back to them. You can't run away from it, but no one can take your home away from you either."

… _No one._

-x-X-x-

"'Uhm, has Alfred Jones signed in today?"

The receptionist tapped away at the keyboard as Toris placed his bag on the scanning bed. He felt ridiculous that his breakfast needed to be scanned, but he knew it was only part of the everyday procedures—he was yet to get used to everything.

"Mm… No he hasn't—not yet, anyway. Is there something you need to deliver to him?"

Toris shook his head, gathering up his bag again when the slot permitted him to do so. "No, I was planning to ask him something. Did he sign in yesterday at all?"

The woman furrowed her eyebrows at his prodding. "No he didn't. He left for a short trip to Russia. His memo claimed it was a business trip for a side job, since there's nothing about it in the database. Anyway, if that's all you need to know, go on, or you'll be late!"

Toris thanked her and made his way to the second floor.

He couldn't help but notice how there was barely anyone around to bump into him. It was early in the morning, but even so, it was never this vacant in the past few days that Toris worked here.

"Well… it's Sunday. I suppose some people take the day off, unlike me." He sighed heavily, taking out his card key and unlocking the door to Ivan's room.

He knocked on the wall and took a look around the corner to see if the other was awake yet. He was surprised to see Ivan still on the bed, but with his back to the wall. His knees were pulled up to his chest while his arms were wrapped securely around them. He was hunched forward, hiding his entire face from view.

Toris quietly lowered his bag to the ground. "Ivan?" He asked softly, "Are you awake?"

The other looked up, his face splitting into an unnerving smile at the sight of Toris. He unfolded his knees and arms, crawling to the edge of the bed to get closer to him. "Ah, Toris. _Privyet_. What brings you here in the morning?"

Toris smiled back at him, unpacking his bag to take out another foam lunch box. "I have your breakfast, remember? It's not Russian this time, I hope you don't mind. Sometimes my knowledge of foreign cuisines escapes me."

"You'll make me fat, Toris." His mouth curved slyly as Toris took out two round mounds of a frosted bread. He took a napkin and picked one up, handing it to him. Ivan accepted it and immediately took a bite, his mouth watering from the sweet smell. He was surprised to find that the pastry was filled with a goopy cream. He curved his tongue outward, licking up some of the sweet substance.

"We call it _spurgos_. Though, I think they're just regular doughnuts to Americans. They're still different—_spurgos_ are heartier, if a bit heavier. It's okay to eat in moderation I guess." He shrugged, taking neat little bites of his own pastry. He took a seat at the edge of the bed, and Ivan scooted closer towards him. He finished his portion in several more bites, licking his fingers of the sugary glaze. Toris offered him another napkin, feeling deeply flattered.

Ivan used it to wipe his fingers and mouth, tossing it back into the bag when he was done with it. He held his heavy stomach and ignoring personal space, leaned against the other, who made a surprised sort of sound. Toris blinked, but he didn't protest or push him away. "Sleepy?"

"It's rich," Ivan grunted, making himself comfortable. "It makes me feel heavy, but I am not sleepy."

Toris took one last bite and wrapped his leftovers, packing it back into the box. "Do you want me to go away then? I'll be back for lunch."

A large hand gripped his sleeve securely. "_Nyet_. You're always trying to leave, Toris."

Toris only smiled own at him, wrapping one of his arms over the other's broad back. The larger man seemed to relax under his touch when he released his grip. "I'm sorry, I have a lot of errands to do around this place. Do you get bored often?"

"Lonely," Ivan sniffed. "Sometimes I am being talked to, but when I take that medicine, I cannot hear anymore. I feel numb."

"Is that so…" His hand wandered, rubbing slow circles absentmindedly. "Do you ever leave this room?"

He felt his muscles stiffen beneath his arm, but nothing more. "I leave, but not the building—never the building. Toris… You are the only who will come to me, _da_?"

"Of course," he answered, and Ivan scooted closer to him, as if he were afraid of something. "I'll come here everyday, unless I'm really sick. But otherwise I'll try my best—you won't have to worry."

"Toris won't be sick though, yes?"

He tilted his head at that sort of statement. "I try not to be, but sometimes I can't help it. I mean, I wouldn't want you to catch it if it were contagious, right?"

Ivan scoffed, but he remained close. "Better sick then… As I am already sick."

"No, not that sort of sickness." He leaned against the bedpost and Ivan followed him. "It's that sort of sickness that makes you stay in bed, miserable. The one that makes you feel horrible because it clogs your lungs or head, or both. The one that only goes away if you wait for it to go away. Sometimes food and medicine helps get rid of it sooner."

"I do not see the difference," Ivan murmured impassively.

"Maybe not, but I don't want you to be sick twice-over."

"…You are strange, Toris."

"I suppose, if you say so."

Ivan looked at him from the corners of his eyes. The other didn't seem to openly mind his presence. Feeling bolder, Ivan had his broad fingers weave through his hair, fondling with the chocolaty-brown locks. He combed through his hair several times, paying surprising attention to its velvety sheen. Toris held still for him, allowing him to do what he pleased. "Soft…" he observed.

Toris smiled and he played with Ivan's hair in turn, though without the type of attention Ivan had for his own dark hair. "Please don't say it's like a woman's."

"Almost like a woman's." Ivan smirked. He drew closer and casually sniffed the other's hair. Toris shivered, but Ivan soon pulled his face a way, his body still leaning against his.

"Ah, that wounds me," Toris said humorously.

"It is soft though," he murmured. "My sisters had soft hair too. The youngest one grew hers out—it was beautiful. My older sister cut hers short because it made it more convenient for work. I remember she was rarely home because she worked so much." He sighed faintly, staring off thoughtfully. "She was like a mother to us."

"So she was a hard-worker, huh? Did your parents work too?"

Ivan snorted, his eyes growing a shade darker. "No, they did not…"

Toris frowned and Ivan slid down, making himself comfortable on the other's lap. "Well… I suppose some families are like that. What's your own family like, Ivan?"

His gaze grew distant as he stared off to the side, avoiding Toris's eyes that were looking down at him. "I don't know…"

A hand was pressed against his forehead, brushing his pale bangs away from his face. "Of course you do. What do you remember about them?"

"Do you have family, Toris?" Ivan asked, sharply turning the conversation in another direction. He shifted his entire body to find a more comfortable position. "You have not told me much about yourself."

His frown deepened at the question that was thrown back at him, but he answered anyway. "Yes, I do. They live in a small city called Prienai, but one of my brothers is starting university in Kaunas, just like me."

"You go to a university? I never have… I was too busy fighting."

"I do, and I have one year left to attend before I start volunteering full time. Did you ever want to go study, Ivan?"

Ivan rolled over, his belly resting over Toris's lap now. "I do not think about it very much but…" He admitted in a small voice, "I miss reading. I miss my language."

"I see…" He rested his hand atop Ivan's hair. "If I knew Russian, I would speak it to you everyday."

Ivan propped up an elbow, laying on his side to peer up at him. "It is wishful thinking. The people here hate who I am—they hate everything about where I come from. They hate the food, the language, the culture, but you are not like the people here."

Toris blinked and tilted his head curiously, but he didn't say anything. Ivan made a soft noise, burying his face into the quilt that Toris gave him. He fumbled around blindly until he found one of those soft hands. Toris gave him a gentle squeeze when those larger fingers found and wrapped around his. The other made another quiet sound, seemingly content.

They continued to sit there quietly, and Ivan would occasionally shift around, still holding onto Toris's hand the same way a child would hold his mother's. Toris let him do what he wanted, but he wasn't totally indifferent to his actions either. He let his mouth curve into a subtle smile every time Ivan showed his face to him. Those violet-colored eyes would widen before he hid his face again, and Toris would silently chuckle to himself.

Toris grew drowsy from the prolonged period of peace and quiet. He lazily gazed out the single window of the room, thinking about what needed to be done. Of course he'd have a list of errands that needed to be completed waiting for him on his desk. It didn't take long for Toris to realize he disliked the offices. Sitting at his own desk meant nothing but sorting out paperwork and organizing calls between the people inside and outside of the facility. His boss said he was a quick worker—an efficient one, but that only meant a larger workload for him.

Thinking about the morning and afternoon rush that was to come to him, Toris reminded himself about his nightly shift. Staying up through the entire night sounded far from appealing, but he figured if any of it was voluntary, no one would bother signing up for it. Alfred told him the night watch would decide a huge portion of his merit. All that paperwork and phone calls would probably mean nothing if he couldn't stay up a single night and do what he was supposed to do. He sighed inwardly, unconsciously playing with Ivan's hair.

Alfred only seemed to complicate his thoughts, distracting him. There was no doubt the American lied to him—though, perhaps there could've been a misunderstanding. He always brought up things about his last day, and he never corrected Toris when he said it was his last day either—it just made things all the more suspicious.

He sighed to himself again, figuring he needed to stop dissecting everyone's actions or motives, but then again, if he weren't able to do that, he wouldn't be here with a Russian laying on his lap in the first place.

_I really do worry myself too much sometimes_.

He was pulled out of his constant thinking when Ivan's shoulders began to heave along with his breathing. For a moment, he panicked and thought that the other had fallen asleep on top of him. He was about to lean down and check on him when he quietly spoke up, "Toris?"

He leaned down slightly so he could hear him better. "Yes?"

"You will listen to me, _da?_ You are not like the others who do not listen."

He nodded slightly. "What is it?"

Ivan turned over, facing his stomach. He spoke in a gradual, low tone, as if he were being careful with his words. "_Da_, my parents did work, but they never worked for us."

Toris knew he was referring back to his question from earlier when he went on. "How do you say it in this language? Ah… They did nothing but _conceive_ me and my two sisters. Otherwise, they were nothing more than the figures? Figures of oppression in our lives. I was only a child and Yekaterina understood things that I could not. When it was time for her to leave the house, she took me and the little one far from our home to the city, where we continued to live."

Toris rubbed the ashen locks between his fingers, keeping him occupied. Gently, he asked, "It was just the three of you? Was it hard?" He stopped playing with his hair, but Ivan made a noise of protest, urging him to continue. He did so, and the Russian visibly relaxed.

"We lived on the charity of others, but Yekaterina found work. Every day, she would tell us it was okay—that everything was okay. Even though we were so little at the time, Natalya and I knew Big Sister was just trying to protect us from reality… _Da_, it was hard, Toris… But at least we were free." Toris flinched when Ivan suddenly clenched his hand. "Or at least that's what I always told myself. I wonder which is more appealing. Freedom or safety? Yekaterina chose freedom, but I cannot say we were safe under the roof of our parents' home either."

His knuckles were beginning to ache from the pressure. Ivan seemed to notice his discomfort when he stopped gripping his hand so tightly. "I think your sister did the right thing," Toris said, his hand remaining in his now-gentle grasp. "No child deserves to live out on the streets, but she was concerned about you and Natalya's future, right? I think I would've done the same thing if I knew it meant a better life."

Ivan grunted, but he did not scoff or brush away his words.

"Have you ever talked with your parents ever since?"

Ivan slowly shook his head from his place on Toris's lap, distaste crossing his face. "They did not bother looking for us when we ran way—they did not care. Yekaterina warned us never to come back there. She was like _Mamulya_ to us; of course we listened to her. Even when there was no warmth or food for us in the city, we did not want anything more to do with our old house."

"I see…" He looked down at him. This one had it tough ever since. Ivan moved his free hand to toy with his own collar. The fabric moved out of the way for a slight moment, revealing a needle work of glossy skin. Toris's eyes widened when he realized they were scars, scars that circled his neck like a wreath of thorns. Ivan noticed his staring and grinned crookedly. Toris only frowned back. "…Where are those from?" He asked, uncertain if Ivan was going to answer him right away this time.

"Even adults like games when they get bored."

Toris shuddered when the meaning sunk in. He didn't ask Ivan to elaborate when he continued to play with his clothes, unconcerned. "What about you, Toris?" He casually asked, "You have marks too, yes?"

Toris flinched, and the other stopped playing to look at him. His back prickled eerily, and he rolled his shoulders to make the feeling go away. "I do, Ivan... But they're nothing special. I was clumsy, and I got into an accident."

Ivan didn't seem convinced. "But you are not clumsy. Where are they?"

"It was only an accident. I don't have an interesting story to tell." Toris managed a smile. "I'm not telling. You can guess, but I still won't tell you."

Ivan wrinkled his nose. "No fair, Toris," he whined. He brought his slender hands close to his face, observing them carefully. "Your hands, wrists, arms? What about your knees?" He went on to list a whole range of body parts, but Toris only laughed.

"I have some on my knees. I fell a lot as a little kid."

"But they're not the ones you speak of, yes?" He groaned. "You are cruel, Toris."

Toris pat his head, still smiling down at him. "Hey, I told you I wasn't going to tell you. I'm not the one who made you curious either."

He pouted and Toris found that amusing to see. He looked away in mock anger when he chuckled. "You are cruel," he repeated.

"I'm sorry. Maybe another time, okay? I'm just not in the mood to tell about the time I fell over everything I came across." He tried to pull his hand away but Ivan only retained his grip, moving it back to the top of his head. Toris stroked him there and he seemed satisfied with that alone.

-x-X-x-

Evening passed smoothly into night and Toris downed his third cup of coffee. He picked up another bottle down at the lobby as the rest of the employees left for the night. Some recognized him as the new intern, and some shot him looks of pity or contempt. No one spoke to him for the rest of the night, adding to his feeling of isolation.

He hadn't seen Alfred for the entire day and he eventually came to assume that the American hadn't attended work once again. Before the day ended, he received a short briefing from one of the facility's administrators since Alfred wasn't around to fill up any spots he had missed. Toris didn't think it was much of a briefing when the man only seemed to stress the importance of the job and nothing else.

He was assigned the infirmary on the bottom floor located at the central hall. He was put in charge of twelve heavily-sedated patients—an unusual number according to the admin. Normally the patients kept in the overnight infirmary numbered less than ten. Unfortunately for Toris, he was going to have to deal with two extra.

It was three hours past midnight, and Toris was sitting motionlessly silent in a chair propped against the far end of the room. Six beds lined each side of the room, making twelve, and all twelve beds were occupied by men who were handcuffed to the steel railings of the bedpost.

The room was lit by the cold moonlight filtering in through the square window built above the intern's head. When no more patients made any more requests, Toris pulled out a book that Alfred advised him to bring along. He was grateful for the other's advice when he passed another hour reading classic literature by moonlight.

He was in the middle of entertaining himself with the last chapter of _Sarunas_ when a patient from the far end of the room requested water. Toris bookmarked his page and shut the old book, leaning it against the leg of his chair as he got up.

"Okay, I'll get you water. Hold on a moment, alright?" He told the man softly as he left, careful not to wake anyone else who happened to be sleeping.

All the lights were shut off this late at night to conserve the asylums budget, but there were enough windows on the bottom floor to let plenty of moonlight in. However, the lack of any artificial lighting gave Toris the chills as he passed through a sub-hall lined with a number of cells and enclosed rooms.

He took a shortcut, suddenly feeling the urge to get the water as quickly as possible. He approached the open entrance to the third hall located on the right of the building. He was just about to pass it without a second thought when a strange noise caused him to stop in his tracks.

He stood there, listening, and he heard the noise again. It didn't sound like anything a living thing would make. The noise came again, and Toris made it out as the groan of a straining rope. Frowning, he peered down the hallway. Six square windows illuminated the entire length of the hallway, but the end was shrouded in darkness. The beams of light from the outside made it difficult to see through. Toris ended up squinting his eyes to inspect the far end of the hall, but his body shuddered when he suddenly realized exactly where he was.

Ivan's words spoke clearly in his mind.

'…_There is a door at the end of the bottom right hall… Stay away from it.'_

_Stay away from it._

A cloud drifted in front of the moon, dimming the light that poured in. Curiosity overcame fear, rooting him to the spot. Now that he could see a little better, he made out the shape of a double door… But there was something hanging in front of it. Toris heard the fourth strain of a rope, and he realized the noise was coming from the silhouette while it swayed back and forth in an invisible wind.

Upon stepping closer and narrowing his eyes, Toris made the shadow out to be the figure of a man. The body continued to swing lifelessly, its neck strung to the ceiling. Another groan sounded from it and Toris's blood ran cold in terrible realization. A startled cry ruptured from his throat, and he stumbled back from the entranceway, turning around to make a run for it.

He tripped and faltered over his own feet as he continued running. His body collided with the walls every time he came to a turn since he didn't even bother slowing down. Terrified gasps escaped his mouth with every breath, and he could feel his head spin from the burst of adrenaline.

His foot caught behind his ankle and he was sent plummeting to the ground. He was about to brace himself for the fall when strong arms caught him, pulling him into a tight hold.

He gasped for breath, his voice coming out in wheezes and terrified chokes. "A-ah--! S-someone--!" He tried to speak, struggling against the person.

"Woah man, calm down! What happened? You're hyperventilating, let me…!"

"Suicide!" Toris shouted, still struggling, but that familiar voice held him down. His lungs constricted and he was back to gasping for air, his eyes rolling back. He saw something terrible, but he couldn't explain the unnatural fear that flooded his lungs, pushing out all the air that he desperately needed. "R-right hall--!" Why hasn't this person dropped and left him yet? Someone was dead, and he saw everything! Someone was dead in this very building!

"Toris! Breath.. Its okay, calm down. Hey, stay with me! Toris…? _Toris!_" The words degraded into incoherent shouting as Toris felt himself grow lighter and lighter.

_No, it's not okay…_

_Air…_

…

_I need air—_

**- -x – X – x - -**

_I think this is one of the very few cliffhangers I've thrown at you guys. Enjoy it :D _

_Finals are over for now, and I'm back to having an extra class everyday. I don't think that'll interfere with my updating much, so things should be back on schedule for chapter six. _

_I've uploaded all the chapters of Lamentia to my livejournal, __**Seayari**__. Since I'm lazy, I might stop uploading here on Fanfiction net. Apparently, FF net is most likely to be blocked on school computers, but I know there are a lot of different cases. I prefer Livejournal over Fanfiction because Fanfiction is highly inconvenient and it screws up with my formatting. Plus, Livejournal enables discussion :D If there is ever a need for that haha. You also don't need an account to access the journal entries or comment (But if you do encounter a problem, you can talk with me and we'll see what's up.) If any of you don't like Livejournal or you just have problems or inconveniences with it, let me know, and I'll upload it here on FF net as well. _

_Thank you for reading, and thank you anonymous reviewers. Love._


	6. Occult of Happiness

_**Author: **__Kaisre   
__**Rating: **__T    
__**Summary: **__Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **__Lithuania // Toris, Russia // Ivan_

_**

* * *

**_

_**- Lamentia -**_

_**- VI -**_

_**

* * *

**_

_It was me who ruined everything_

_When I was born, my parents found no use for my older sister_

_They would scold her, beat her_

_In hopes that I would learn a lesson just by watching_

_For six years, I was spared from them_

_But Katyusha never hated me for it_

_Ever._

_Natalya was an accident, our parents didn't want her_

_Yet she was still allowed to live_

_Katyusha seemed to know something I didn't, and the nightmares continued_

_Each and every time, Big Sister would tell me to take the littlest_

_And hide in the closet until it was all over_

_When it happened, Katyusha always cried_

_But she tried not to cry in front of us_

_As if to help draw away our fear, she would ask_

"_What are going to do when you grow up, Ivan?"_

"_Make others happy."_

_That's what I told her, but she knew I wasn't talking about myself_

_It was the answer of a desperate child_

_But Katyusha never laughed at me._

_I think we were the same back then_

_Hoping that such a person would come save us._

_-x-X-x-_

_When I was a small child_

_My parents would take me and my brothers to the graveyard_

_To eat with our grandparents who had passed away_

_I loved Grandmother and Grandfather_

_But I was scared of the dead_

_Sometimes I would find people walking alone_

_And I could see their suffering as clearly as I could see the trees that enclosed the graveyard_

_My brothers would tell me they were ghosts_

_And I would tell them they were ordinary people like us_

_Even though every time, I could see a heavy miasma surrounding them_

_And it frightened me_

_To take away my fear, my parents would talk to us_

_And more than once, they would ask_

"_What are you going to be when you grow up, Toris?"_

"_Someone that makes other people happy"_

_I remember frowning and trying again_

"_The one that takes the sad away"_

_My parents would laugh, and I would get upset_

_Because I knew what I wanted, but I didn't know what it was called_

_Fourteen years later_

_And I still don't know the name of the person I wanted to be_

_Or if such a person could exist._

-x-X-x-

_Toris had a rag in his hands when he began dusting the filthy window sill of Ivan's room. The Russian laid on his belly, his chin perching on two interlacing hands as he watched the other work. The remains of their dinner sat motionlessly at the foot of his bed, neatly tied up to prevent any of the smell from escaping. _

"_You remind me of someone, Toris. He was always so neat about everything, so caring, such a hard worker."_

_Toris hummed in response as he tried to get into the corners. He stopped for a moment to take another sip from his coffee. "Oh really now?"_

_Ivan hummed back. "Yes. He was the best of his country—" his tone was that of affection and reverence. "He was the only one who gave me another chance."_

-x-X-x-

He woke up on a stiff mattress, covered from chest to toe in the thin, white sheets of the hospital bed. His eyes remained closed, but he could hear the conversation of a man that stood not too far away from him.

"… Yeah, I swear that's what happened. I didn't do anything to him for the last time… Wait what? This morning? Why? How did he even…? Well I know that but what are you going to…? He… Toris isn't going to like that… Whatever—fine, I'll tell him. Okay, okay, I got it! I know. The guy needs his rest—he's been up all night. Alright. Bye."

There was the click of the door and the sound of feet stepping closer to him.

"Oh man, Toris.. What am I going to do with you?"

"What time is it?" He croaked, his tired eyes still glued shut. Even though he wasn't looking, he could practically imagine Alfred's startled expression.

"Oh hey! How long have you been awake? Did we bother you?"

"No," he lied, "I woke up just now. What time is it?" He repeated.

"It's… It's a quarter past two."

Toris almost fell out of his bed at that. He immediately sat upright, forcing his eyes to open painfully. "Oh my god, I've missed breakfast _and_ lunch." He threw the sheets off of himself, climbing out of bed, but Alfred only shoved him back in… gently.

"So what? You've never stayed in bed and slept this late? Relax… It looked like you had it rough."

His blood ran cold when he remembered last night's events. "Who was it?" He asked, turning a pale face towards Alfred. "Who died? Did you hear me last night? I-I said the body was in the right hall—" He started panicking within himself.

Alfred frowned deeply and gripped his shoulder to hold him steady, looking extremely worried. "I heard you nice and clear, Toris—even though you were practically suffocating. But listen to me, there must be some mistake." Toris stared at him in confusion, and Alfred went on to explain, "I had a guard watch over you before I went over to check. There _was_ no body—I checked the entire bottom floor because I thought something terrible really did happen. After that, I investigated the right hall, checking the ceiling and everything. There's nothing attached to the walls or ceiling that could suspend and support a body. There's no hook, no knobs, no sprinklers—nothing. There was no way a noose or anything of the sort could be set up. The drug cabinets were never tampered with last night, and the security guards didn't report anything suspicious."

Toris stared at him in disbelief. There was no way—Alfred must think he was a liar now. "But I _saw _it! I saw the body. It was swinging back and forth, as if the person had just recently hung themselves. I heard the rope. I swear, Alfred, I wasn't imagining anything."

Alfred shook his head, his concern showing in his eyes. "Like always, roll call was taken this morning. I checked the roster—every patient and worker was recorded in."

Toris stared down at his hands, his blood pounding loudly in his ears like a drum. He was so confused. He knew what he saw—he just didn't know _who_ it was, and that was the problem. He was so convinced that someone died sometime early in the morning, but he had no evidence, and now Alfred was telling him it was impossible that anything happened. "What did the administrators say?" He asked quietly.

Alfred looked away for a moment, distracted with something. "I told them you fainted from sleep deprivation. They don't know a thing about what you saw last night."

He blinked incredulously, his mouth dropping. "Why?" He demanded. "They could've—"

Alfred shoved a hand in front of his mouth, his gaze hard. "Quiet down, they might be trying to eavesdrop on us since they're still suspicious… About me and… yeah." He hastily shook his head. "But you don't understand, do you, Toris? I told you, there's no body to be found. Only a handful of employees stayed behind for the night, and they all reported back this morning. No one heard you scream, except me, and you're lucky it was only me too!" He frowned and sighed, lowering his hand with a quick apology.

Toris shook it off, slowly realizing what Alfred had done for him. If there was no evidence to back up his claim, he would be put under extreme scrutiny. Even worse, the whole facility would eventually come to conclude that there was something wrong with him as well. If it came down to that, it was better to have the others think he fainted on his first night shift, than to have him be labeled as mentally unwell as the rest of the patients. That seemed to go a bit too far, but Alfred made it sound like these people weren't afraid of taking the extra step and Toris didn't doubt him.

"I know you must be upset… that being your first opportunity and all. But there are still some chances for you to make it up. You're staying here for the long run, and I didn't want things to turn out like mine."

_But… If there wasn't anything to be found, what did I see? Did I honestly imagine that?_

Toris studied the gases and chemicals floating around in the air of decaying buildings that spurred hallucinations and tricked people into hearing things that were not there. A disillusioned human mind—it was the most reasonable explanation for sightings of mysterious shadows and lights. Gilbert told him about the history of this place. He told him the whole thing was torn down, but perhaps that wasn't the case. Maybe newer walls were built over the old ones, or that several decades were enough to make the wood rot and release gases into the air.

Either way, he was mostly likely just another victim to hallucinations and sleep-deprivation.

"Hey, Alfred?"

"Hm?"

He turned to him, trying to keep his voice from sounding suspicious or skeptical. He didn't want to give him the wrong impression, especially when he saved him from a lot of unnecessary trouble. "Where were you the other day? You told me you had to go back to America, but now you're sitting at my bedside at the moment."

His sky-blue rims widened but he quickly regained his composure, even if it were a bit too late. "Oh, right, about that…" He huffed and looked off to the side, scratching his cheek. "So my boss told me I had to travel to Moscow to talk to some folks. I was going to leave from Lithuania after I packed up my stuff. It turns out Lanka wanted to keep me around for some reason—everyone else doesn't seem to like me very much. I must be too foreign or something. Anyways, I just took a short break to tend to different matters." He laughed distractedly. "I hope that makes sense…" he finished apologetically.

Toris sighed. "You had me worried. I thought there was some misunderstanding, and I didn't want to look foolish."

The blonde's shoulders slumped. "Sorry… I guess I should've found time to tell you, huh?"

Toris shook his head and pat Alfred on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad to have you back, and it was good thing you happened to be there earlier this morning. I still don't understand everything, Alfred, but you helped me, so I guess I'll keep quiet for now." He cracked a smile and the American eagerly returned it.

"So am I forgiven?"

Toris almost laughed. "Yeah.. Yeah you are."

Alfred took a seat and sat back, looking relieved with himself. "Well… Things are in your favor for now, Toris. You get the day off."

Toris blinked, his smile fading in confusion. "What about Ivan?"

The other young man sat forward, frowning now. "Braginsky? They took care of him this morning and afternoon…" He suddenly groaned and buried his face into his hands for a moment. "Something… happened with him."

For the second time that day since seeing the hanging body, Toris's heart stopped. "W-what do you mean?" Just yesterday, he promised Ivan that it was only going to be him that would visit. Now… he's already broken that promise. Was he angry with him? Or even worse, did he lose the trust Toris worked so hard and carefully to gain? Swallowing thickly, he expected to hear the worst.

Alfred rubbed his temples. "This morning… There was something wrong with him and he got upset for some reason—one of the workers told me just now. They gave him a mild sedative to calm him down for the hour and force-fed him. He was even worse by the time they returned for noon with his drugs." He groaned again, slumping backwards. "Jesus Christ, Toris…"

Toris was already on his feet, staring down at him. "Tell me what happened, Alfred," he said, his voice dangerously quiet.

The American looked up at him with fearful eyes. "You can't go to him, Toris. He's a monster. You have to change patients _today_."

"Alfred…" He warned, his gaze growing unnaturally fierce. His fists clenched tightly while his nails bit into his palms.

Alfred looked torn and defeated, giving in to him. "When they returned at twelve 'o clock… He resisted every one of their advances. He was screaming something in Russian and one of the guys claimed your name was thrown in that whole mess. There was a whole lot else, but no one could understand what he was saying—not that they would really care in the first place. Anyways, they tried to subdue him of course, but Braginsky managed to smash one guy's face in and break his nose. You know Marcel right? Yeah… They were going to sedate him with a more powerful drug, but somehow Ivan got a hold of that too and stabbed another guy with it. That stuff's powerful, and now that guy's in the hospital. They managed to drug Braginsky half-to-death, so he's been put into stricter confinement."

Toris stood there, trying to take in everything and process it. He made a go for the door but Alfred grabbed his wrist, pulling him back. "What the hell are you doing!? Didn't you just hear me?"

Hurt, confused, and antagonized, Toris fought against him. "They can't do that to him!" He shouted. "He's done wrong, I know, but I need to go see him!"

Alfred let go, but Toris didn't run right away. "I don't give a damn about the Russian," he said sharply. He took a step closer, staring deep into his own eyes. "Don't you even realize? It's not about him—it's about you, Toris! It could've been you with a smashed in face, or maybe not that if you prefer getting knocked-out by meds instead! Sooner or later, he's going to turn on you, and you'll regret it."

Toris bit his lip, his gaze piercing. He was calmer when he spoke. "Alfred…" he started carefully. "I know what could've happened, but I know I need to see him. My patient needs me."

Alfred sighed and shook his head, but he relented. "I knew you were this sort of person from the start. I hate letting you go, but I think I can understand you." He avoided his gaze. "I was always that person who tried to save everyone. It's been a while, but I think I'm still the same as always." He shook his head again and walked towards the door, gesturing for Toris to follow him. "Follow me. They'll never let you in alone."

-x-X-x-

Toris couldn't stand the silence between them as they walked along the hallways. It just didn't feel natural with the normally happy American at all.

"I'm sorry I yelled, Alfred," he said. "It's just, Ivan… After spending a lot of time in there, I didn't think this would happen. Or maybe deep down, I did know, and I never wanted to admit it."

"It's okay," he replied, "I think everyone is still shaken up over it too, even if it's for different reasons. It was still a big shock to everyone else. They were always on their toes around him, but this still came as a surprise. Normally, all the patients are drugged enough so they aren't a danger to others, but Braginsky already receives so much medication. No one expected this sort of thing to happen so suddenly."

Toris stared ahead. "Even after everything everyone's been telling me about, I can't bring myself to abandon him. I'm not afraid of him, and I certainly don't hate him. There's a small chance for him still." He smiled mirthlessly. "I was always able to see the suffering of others, the worst of what they had. Even when Ivan carries so much, I still see a small hope for him. It's my job to make him better, isn't it?"

He could see Alfred nod from the corner of his eye. They arrived at Ivan's room. Everything was the same except for a security guard stationed in front of the door.

"No one is allowed in at this time," he told them in a rough voice.

Toris frowned. "But—"

The guard cut him off. "There were two incidents today. No one is allowed in to see this number."

"I'm his caretaker," Toris said, "I've been working with him for a while. I know him, and I know that he's been heavily sedated. He wouldn't be able to do a thing to me, even if he tried."

_Not that he's ever tried_, Toris thought.

The guard eyed him. "Identification?"

Toris handed it to him. The man read his name aloud, "Toris Laurinaitis. I recognize your name from the roster. So you're one who's been in charge of this mess?"

The Lithuanian frowned in confusion, but he didn't complain when the guard stepped aside to give him access to the door. "I recognize the both of you. If it weren't for that, I would've thrown you guys out—I know the type of people who work here." He nodded towards Alfred. "Are you going in too?"

Toris turned halfway to look at him, but Alfred shook his head. "I was never given permission to work with the patient. We already have our professional." He flashed a smile at Toris, who gratefully returned it.

The man seemed satisfied with that, and Toris slid his car key through the slot. The door beeped and unlocked. Toris pushed it open and looked over his shoulder again. "Hey, don't worry about me. I think… I think Ivan might be upset when I see him, but don't worry unless it's me that's yelling, okay?" The blonde nodded and Toris closed the door behind him.

The weight of the atmosphere almost dragged him down the moment he stepped into the room. For the first time since his first day in this room, he sensed a paranoia swirling in his gut. He folded his arms over his middle to help suppress it. He didn't lie to Alfred—he wasn't afraid of Ivan, but there was something else about this room that made his skin crawl.

He took a step around the corner, expecting to see Ivan curled up in his bed, but he wasn't. Instead, he found him sitting in the middle of his room with his knees drawn up to his chest and face hidden. His pale arms were sporting red and black blotches while his wrists were wrapped in fresh bandages. He noticed is hair was even more of a disheveled mess than usual when he crouched down beside him.

"Ivan.. It's me, Toris," he whispered gently. He lifted a hand and tenderly patted the stray locks of hair down. It didn't cure the messiness, but it helped a little.

Ivan slowly lifted his head. His blank eyes were rimmed with red—and his blue, chapped lips were split down the middle. He looked just like the time when they first met, if not worse.

"_Ya ne ponimayu…_" His voice had assumed a softer tone to it, almost child-like. "_Ya ne ponimayu…Pomogite, pozhaluista lyubimiu."_

Toris couldn't understand a word. He grimaced, deeply regretting his lack of knowledge for the language. Cupping a sickly white cheek, he carefully guided his thistle orbs onto himself. Ivan's eyes were directly in front of Toris now, but he wasn't looking at _him_—he wasn't looking at anything. His lips were moving slowly to form mute words, but his eyes were nothing but a clouded void.

"_Ivan_." He tried again, searching that endless void for any sign of life.

Those lips froze and his eyes widened, as if he had just realized Toris's presence. His whole body broke out in tremors as he stared down at his shaking hands. "_Nyet_.." He shoved his hand away from his face, staring at him in utter terror.

Toris frowned, slightly startled. He didn't expect him to grow jumpy so suddenly.

Was… Was he really angry with him?

"Lay down.. _lay down… Lay down!"_ Ivan shoulders were seized and Toris was shoved down against the ground with Ivan on top of him. His arms were trembling so violently, that Toris was half-expecting him to collapse on top of him.

He stared up at him calmly, even though his heart was pounding frantically in his chest. He stayed where he was, silently watching as those previously empty depths reflected a tortured existence. "You're not real," he breathed, madness clearly mixing in with his anguish. "You're not _real!_"

Toris swallowed, finding his throat dry and sticky. "I'm real Ivan. I'm here, see?"

"_Nyet!_" He screamed and Toris flinched, struggling to look into that face that was so contorted into pain and confusion. He forced himself to search him deeply—to search for any signs of recognition. "I killed you! I killed you, _lyubimui__!" _

Toris reached up and took his twisted face into his hands. "I'm alive, Ivan—you didn't kill me, you never did."

A whine, and Toris gently hushed him.

"…You're not real, _lyubimui_," he repeated, his voice cracking. Water flooded his eyes and dripped down his nose in the form of fat teardrops. They splashed against his cheek and Toris caught a single drop between his lips. He tasted pain. Cold, sweaty hands cupped his own flushed cheeks, and Toris felt his skin being stroked with an extreme sort of tenderness—as if Ivan was afraid of breaking him. "_I killed you… _W-why are you here? Haven't I suffered enough?" A horrible sob tore from his throat. "_I don't have anything to give you anymore!_" He grasped his own head in fistfuls of hair, swaying back and forth as he cried and shouted incoherently.

Toris swallowed again, and he tasted salt. He sat up slowly, wrapping his arms over Ivan's back and pressing his sobbing mess against his own body. Ivan clung to his clothes, to his middle, soaking his stomach with streaming tears. Toris held him close, and he held him tightly.

"I-I told you I wouldn't hurt anymore," he gasped, his breath hitching. "I did not mean to hurt them! I'm sorry, _lyubimui__. _I'm so sorry—please don't be angry." He clung tighter to the point that it was painful, but Toris continued to support him, shielding him from the cold air.

"Hush, Ivan…" He laid his cheek against the top of his head, damp with cold sweat. "I'm not angry with you."

_The dead are gone—they can never come back to hurt you, Ivan_.

"…I am scared…" He whimpered, his breathing evening out slowly. "T-take me away with you… I am not like you, _lyubimui_—I have always been afraid."

Very gently, he began to rock him back and forth, stroking the back of his head with his hand. "It's okay to be afraid," he murmured into his ear. Ivan responded by relaxing his hold, though his fists clenched onto his clothes tighter. Toris took a deep breath while he still could. "No one is angry with you. No one will hurt you."

Ivan sniffed wetly, letting himself be cradled by the Lithuanian. "I was hated…" He sniveled. "B-but… but you were always kind to me." His words stretched into another faint whimper. "You created a home for me. You gave me reason, and then… I-I killed—I killed…!"

He wailed—his lament pierced through his heart like a hot knife. Toris bit his lip, his eyes and nose burning. A single tear escaped his clenched eyes and Toris tried so hard to relieve his pain through each rock. "Shh… It's okay—it's okay, Ivan. I am always here."

His clothes were damp to the point that they clung to his skin, but Toris continued to press his huddled mass against himself. Ivan began crying freely again, and Toris allowed him to do so. He allowed this man to release what ever that was locked up inside of him. What he held on the inside must've been several things he reserved only for himself, and not for the staff that continued to antagonize him here.

Toris stroked his hair and Ivan lifted himself to bury his warm nose into the crook of the younger man's neck. He shivered, but the feeling wasn't entirely unpleasant. Ivan sniffled into his collar as he hiccupped, though his actual sobbing died down slightly. He continued to rock the other back and forth in his embrace as occasional whimpers of "_Lyubimui__… lyubimui…" _leaked from bloodied lips.

Rubbing his back, Toris pressed his own lips to the side of his head, whispering gentle comforts into his ear. Moments passed and those whines died down completely, his breath hitched only by hiccups and sniffles. Toris slipped an arm under Ivan's knees, and with some difficulty due to his smaller stature, heaved the Russian back into the comfort of his own bed. He took the heavy quilt and draped it over his shivering form, tucking him in quietly.

"_Don't go_…" Ivan begged, his mouth wavering. Toris managed a smile despite the ache in his heart. He sat down beside him, and with his dry sleeve, carefully dabbed the opened scab on his discolored lips. Next, he wiped away the leftover tears hanging from his bloodshot eyes. Ivan clung onto his arm and rubbed his cheek against it, his brow furrowed in anxiety. Toris framed his whole face in his arms, embracing him again.

Heavy arms shakily slid over his back this time, weighing him down. Toris's upper body laid upon him and he nuzzled against the warmth.

"Go to sleep, Ivan… No one will lay another hand on you."

-x-X-x-

They were in the parking lot of the facility when Alfred opened up the passenger seat of a humbled pickup truck, offering it to Toris. He smiled and climbed in. He watched as Alfred circled in front of the truck, opening up the driver's seat and stepping in.

Toris gave him a tired smile before opening his bag and rummaging around in it. "Thank you for the ride.. I really appreciate it."

Alfred flashed him a grin in response, but his expression quickly turned into that of worry as he buckled himself in. "No offense, Toris, but you look terrible… Do you need more rest? I shouldn't have woken you up that early…"

Toris laughed—he didn't wake up early at all. "No, it's fine. It isn't about sleep—I haven't taken my medication this morning like I was supposed to, so now it's coming back to bite me in the rear." He finally found what he was looking for. He pulled out a small, orange, plastic bottle and popped the white cap off of it. "Do you have some water?"

Alfred nodded, leaning back to grab a water bottle. He handed it to Toris, who twisted the lid off and took two big gulps after taking two white tablets into his mouth. He screwed the cap back on and placed it into one of the cup holders.

"I didn't know you took pills."

Toris sighed and put the bottle away into his bag. "Sometimes life gets me down, and I have to take them. I wish I didn't have to—they give me a headache." He set the bag down near his feet and buckled up as well.

Alfred tilted his chin towards him. "What are they for?"

Toris shrugged. "I've had a problem with depression since I was a teen, though I've been getting better since then." He smiled. "Too bad I can't perform therapy on myself."

"'Sorry to hear that. I never have to take prescribed stuff—I guess I'm lucky." Alfred started up the car and waited for it to warm up before backing out of the parking space. He made a curve and drove down the lot towards the gated entrance. Two guards were waiting for them. After taking a look inside and outside, they unlocked and opened up the gate, permitting them to drive though.

"It's okay," Toris said when they were finally back on the main road after driving past a series of hills. "It isn't too bad when things aren't bothering you."

Toris instructed him to pull into the freeway, since the main road towards his apartment was always congested at this time of the day. He apologized for the distance, but Alfred brushed it off, reassuring him that it was perfectly fine.

"Never mind it, man. How was Braginsky by the way?"

Toris stared ahead of the road. "They did something to him…" He said coldly, his eyes narrowing in silent anger. "They didn't just _sedate_ him. They put something else in his bloodstream, but I have no idea what. I just know they injected him with something that wasn't meant to be put into people."

Alfred frowned, looking into the rear view mirror before merging into the right lane. "What do you mean? The guy from this afternoon told me they just gave him something to knock him out for a little while."

Toris shook his head. "Ivan's medication is supposed to suppress the hallucinations he experiences from schizophrenia and post-trauma. Not once since I stepped in there today did he recognize me at all. To him, I was someone else." He took a deep breath, blinking slowly. "He said… He said he killed me."

The other's frown deepened, worry swirling around in his blue irises. "Braginsky was convicted of murder twice. He was found guilty the second time, and that's what landed him a spot in the asylum, don't you remember?"

"Of course I do.. I just don't… Never mind." He shook his head. "Do you know any details about it, Alfred?"

Alfred spared him a careful look. "I'm not supposed to tell you."

It was his turn to frown. He didn't have time for this. He _needed_ to know. "Why—?"

"I'm not supposed to tell anyone, Toris. But since you're still working with him, I know you'll need whatever info I have." He sighed heavily. "The first time he was accused of killing someone…It was a court-martial. Yeah, that's right—he was suspected of a crime during his service in Afghanistan. He and nine others were sent on a peace-keeping mission in the nearby mountains. They were only supposed to help the people get by with life, help them, help prevent conflict with any rivals, you know, _keep the peace_. No one was supposed to die."

Toris gripped his hands together, staring hard at the median of the road. "But someone did, didn't they?"

"Not some_one_, Toris. Only four men returned home by the end of it, Braginsky being one of them of course."

Toris had to keep himself from shuddering. He closed his eyes to calm his pulse. That was less than half of their original number. "What happened?"

Alfred grit his teeth. "I don't know the details. There was a horrible mistake when they arrived. The squad leader was killed in the first week of the mission, and the rest just followed after that. Whatever happened, only four of them were left when they finally received help one month later."

Toris slumped against the window, knowing he didn't need to tell him how horrible he thought that was—they both knew it without saying a word. "…What… what about the second time?"

"It was gruesome incident, and Ivan never defended himself once. That's all I know…" Alfred said quietly, still driving. "Exit here?"

"Yes, then make a right, please," Toris answered, moving his gaze over to him. "Where did you find this out?"

Alfred stiffened, but his words were steady when he spoke. "Braginsky's case made me curious, so not long after I started working at the asylum, I did some research. His history is really obscure though—I've only found out so much. I guess that's why the others tried so hard to get him to talk, even though they gave up soon after."

Toris bit his lip at the mention of the staff. They've done wrong, and he knows it now. They can't keep anymore secrets from him.

_If… if they're the ones responsible for Ivan's behavior…_

He clenched his fists, staring out the car window with an unreadable expression. _I'll find out_.

**- - x – X – x - - **

_My brain kind of hurts again ;u; I need more sleep, but it's only the evening and I have flipping school tomorrow orz. _

_A few of you guys wanted me to stay on FanFiction as well, so I am. You'll be finding both stories on both sites, so you won't have to worry about me leaving. Reviews are wonderful, and thank you people from last chapter two. I haven't really gotten around to replying, sorry about that orz. You guys are more than welcome to speculate, though I can't tell you if you're right or wrong ;D_

_Love._


	7. Taming Storms

_**Author: **__Kaisre    
__**Rating: **__T    
__**Summary: **__Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **__Lithuania // Toris, Russia // Ivan  
_

_

* * *

_

_**- Lamentia -**_

_**- VII -**_

_**

* * *

**_

_Sometimes even the proudest of men need to retreat to the safety within their own minds—given that they're fortunate to consider their own minds a safe asylum._

-x-X-x-

It was raining.

Or perhaps it wasn't.

His doctors have given him a new sort of treatment, so his mind's been in a daze for the past week. Sometimes he couldn't tell reality from dreams or dreams from nightmares. Sometimes he couldn't tell if someone was out there to kill him or not.

Maybe Yekaterina was right. Maybe spending too much time away from home has touched him in the head.

He leaned on the bronze armrest of the park bench he was sitting on. He shook his head, his drenched bangs flopping about. Water dribbled into his mouth—it was definitely raining.

Water splashed onto his pant leggings as a woman ran past him, sheltered from the rain by a battered umbrella. He didn't rise or budge from his spot—he didn't even turn to yell at her. Leaning his dripping head back, Ivan turned his face towards the sky. He wondered if rainy days in Moscow were allowed to be this bright—the endless gray made his eyes ache.

His eyes were dry, but rain drops streamed down his face like tears. He thought he may as well be crying, amusing himself with the idea that the sky was mocking him. He laughed weakly, tasting the dewy rain again. There was nothing to be sad about.

The verdict was read—he was _not_ responsible for Gabriel Lanka's death. He was just about as innocent as the men who died last year. He let out another feeble chuckle. Did he even want to be innocent? It would've been much easier on him if he could've just died thousands of miles away from home like the rest of them in full honor. There would be no law in Hell he would have to deal with.

The poor boy. He was young, even younger than Ivan at the time.

_At least you have company. At least your comrades are with you_.

Ivan automatically patted down his cloak for a liquor bottle, quickly realizing that he hadn't been carrying any alcohol around with him for a while now. He closed his eyes and sighed in disappointment. He had a reason—some reason.

_Ah_…

He promised the dark-haired man from ten days ago he wouldn't go around drinking in the streets. Everything about him had been clear in his memory, including the subtle smell of his home. Well… everything save for his name. His name was an obscure thing and Ivan found himself having trouble recalling it.

Liet… That's right—his name was Liet. It was a strange name in his honest opinion since he's never even heard it before.

_My thoughts are a mess_. _I suppose I can thank you for that._

He continued to sit there, his ankles crossed. The rain eventually stopped, and he watched as the men, women, and children huddled in the crowded shops slowly left. Some shook off their umbrellas, looking towards the sky to see if the heavy clouds had cleared yet. Ivan shuddered and sneezed, bowing his head. He wiped his nose with a sopping wet sleeve, which didn't help much. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to sit out in the rain. Figures—ever since his homecoming day, his judgment had been severely clouded. He blamed it on the medication.

Ivan tilted his head back up, going back to observing the people with a cold sort of indifference. The less fortunate crawled out from under their cardboard shelters, perching at the alley corners like street dogs.

A young brunette entered his vision and strolled down the sidewalks, stepping over the fresh rain puddles with his even strides. Ivan got up and made his way to the crosswalk. The light glowed red and he was permitted to cross. A car stopped a second too late, brushing the side of his pants with its front. Ivan looked from the corner of his eyes as he briskly walked passed—the juvenile driver flashed him several colorful gestures.

The commotion seemed to catch the attention of the brunette. He turned around and Ivan stood barely a meter away from him. Forest eyes widened in surprise when the smaller man saw who it was.

"…I had your safety in mind when I asked you not to get drunk on the streets," he told him. "Walking into the pathway of cars is something I tend to frown upon too. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he said bluntly. He ignored one of the homeless men when he stepped in front of Liet. "Were you planning to cut through there?" He nodded to the alleyway that reeked of old rags and wet newspaper.

Liet nodded, pulling out change to put into a can. Ivan's hand brushed against his sleeve and the owner of the said can glared at him reproachfully. Liet didn't seem to notice and the coins fell into the tin with a metallic clatter.

Ivan suddenly grabbed Liet by the elbow and dragged him away from the makeshift settlement. There was a hiss of pain and he stopped in front of a store that vaguely smelled of burnt flour. His iron grip loosened when he turned around to meet his eyes, instantly filled with guilt. Ivan didn't let that show.

"There's no need to waste your charity on trash," he said quietly but firmly at the same time.

Liet's frown made a poor replacement for his usual smile or neutral curve. "Did that upset you? I didn't see any harm in it."

Ivan reminded himself to let go. His fingers tingled unpleasantly as Liet rubbed his own affected arm. "…There's no hope for them and even they know it—that is why they don't even bother. They drown out the rest of their days in a bottle, or blow their chances away with _drugs_. That's where your money goes." He sighed stressfully, running a hand through his damp hair. He already regretted crossing the street to meet him.

Liet spoke evenly. He didn't sound offended, nor did he sound angry. "They're people just like us. I chose to help them, and they can choose what to do with it. Everyone's the same in some way or another, aren't they?"

_No._

_You're wrong_.

"They're the same as small boy who has nothing but his two sisters—they are unwanted by society."

"Don't say that…"

He felt something rear its ugly head inside of him. "You try to help people, and they repay you by trying to kill you," he sneered, "If they cannot, then they take and take and take whatever they can. It's—" He stopped, realizing too late what he was starting. He bit his tongue and tasted copper. Blinking slowly, he took deep breaths, shoving away the memories from those fateful months. It wasn't going to happen again—not in a place like this. It was over. It was safer here.

He couldn't make the same mistake twice—not here, not in front of Liet. He turned his body away from Liet, looking down. "… They know you have money. It wouldn't have been safe to cut through there alone."

Something worrisome crossed those green eyes and Liet gently guided him to a nearby table. Ivan noticed a slight limp to the other's walk—his steps were not smooth at all now that he was this close to see. If he weren't looking down in regret, he would've missed it.

"…You're hurt," he told him. He stood while Liet sat. The brunette straightened his legs and rubbed his ankles together.

"I am…?"

"Your ankle…" He clutched his hand, feeling uncomfortably hot. "Did I…?"

Liet shook his head. "I stepped in a crack on the sidewalk while I was walking. You didn't do anything."

Before he could respond, a waitress came out of the café front to greet them. Ivan was about to shoo her away when Toris ordered only a coffee for himself. The smaller man turned to him and gave him an inviting smile.

"I can see you shivering from here, Ivan. You should drink something hot—it's better than vodka."

Ivan couldn't bring himself to frown and voice his displeasure when he ordered a coffee as well, carefully taking a seat. The woman made a quick note and left the two alone.

Liet propped his elbows on the table, leaning forward comfortably. "You didn't stand out in the rain without an umbrella, did you? Your bangs are still dripping and your lips are pale. If alcohol poisoning and cars won't be the death of you, then pneumonia will."

"I was thinking," he mumbled sheepishly, staring down at his lap. "It didn't bother me… at first," he admitted, plucking a napkin from a tin dispenser to blow his nose.

"Maybe I should've helped dry you off first. You must be freezing."

Ivan unbuttoned his coat and shrugged it off. The air was crisp, but the sun warmed his skin. He scrunched the napkin in his fist, hiding it. "It's not bad. The rain didn't last long."

Liet laced his fingers together, watching him over the ridges of his knuckles. "No one in his right mind would be out in the first place. Perhaps in America, but not here."

Ivan didn't argue with him. He stared off to the side, feeling Liet's gaze on his cheekbone.

"Ivan?"

There was something about the way he said his name that made him face him again.

"Hm?"

"Who… Who was it that took what from you?"

Ivan stared at him. There was no need for him to ask how he knew. "I don't remember," he answered blankly. He turned away again but Liet grabbed his wrist. His hand was soft and warm against his clammy skin.

"Ivan."

He swore he was under a spell of some sort when his neck turned stiffly to face him again. "I-I don't remember," he said again, his voice chipping.

The air seemed to grow colder and Ivan felt his breath freeze halfway out his lungs.

The other's palm was resting against the back of his hand now. Ivan stared down at them as he tried to dislodge his breathing. "It hurts if I try to remember anything. My deployment, the years before it—it feels the same to me. There is nothing that I wish to remember. Even so, they still haunt me none the less."

His pale hands twitched and Ivan wondered why Liet was still here, listening as if he had something meaningful to say.

Liet opened his mouth to tell him something, but the waitress interrupted them once again. She placed a small bowl of biscuits in the center of the table, a pitcher of cream, and two mugs of fragrant coffee.

The scent of the coffee overwhelmed the burnt stench of the biscuits and they were left alone once again. Ivan expected him to use this all as an excuse to let go of the topic at hand and pretend he didn't ask in the first place.

He should've known better by now.

"There must be something good you remember—something you can hold onto."

Ivan shook his head in denial. Deep inside, he knew he was right, but he didn't want to believe it. Nothing good can come out of him. Life so far proved that.

Liet wasn't to be deterred but he let go of his hand, his fingers feeling numb and cold now. He pushed his mug of coffee towards him, saying, "Being cold and wet won't help you. Drink up while its still hot."

Ivan nodded slowly and obeyed, drinking carefully. The coffee wasn't bad or even unpleasant. The taste was sharp, but he didn't even bother with the cream. It seemed to him that all their conversations lead to coffee over a table. He snorted at his sense of déjà vu.

Perhaps he was going to have to get used to more coffee this upcoming week.

The afternoon passed by lazily, and Liet received the bill. He paid it off and cleaned up the table a little. "Let's go to my place so you can dry off." He prepared to stand up but Ivan stopped him.

He scooted his chair out with a rusty scrape, beckoning Liet's foot towards him. "Let me see it."

Liet tilted his head curiously but complied. He carefully lifted the afflicted foot and Ivan took it with gentle hands. He gingerly took the shoe off before pulling the cloth back, exposing his ankle. A frown crossed his lips and wrinkled his brow. His ankle was swollen and horribly bruised, making it difficult to tell if it were actually broken or not. Black and red dots littered over a cloud of mottled purple. Even Liet was surprised when he saw how bad the bruising was.

"It was better last time I checked on it," he told him quietly.

"You mean before you kept walking on it." Liet flinched when he pressed his palm against the inflamed area. "How much does it hurt?"

"Just a little bit… Now that I'm thinking about it," he admitted.

Ivan felt those green eyes rest on his bangs as he pressed two fingers to the center of his foot, right below where the swelling started. "You still have a pulse down here—it's not serious." Liet relaxed as he worked his shoe back on.

"More of a reason to go back home, I guess."

Ivan stood up and put his coat back on before turning around, bending forward. "And I'm not going to let you walk there."

After a moments pause, the other man climbed onto his back hesitantly. "You honestly don't have to…" He murmured, and to Ivan's amusement, he sounded shy. "The apartments aren't that far from here."

"Yes they are." Ivan adjusted himself before leaving the storefront. Liet's long brown hair tickled the side of his face as the other shifted from side to side. He was much lighter than he expected—perhaps it was because his slim figure was hidden under layers of warm clothing. "They're all the way down the main road, and then you have to take a few turns from there. Far enough to do wonders to that ankle of yours."

He was silent for a moment, and his scarf grew warm when Liet buried his nose into it. They both smelled of coffee and cream. "…Thank you."

His slender body was warm against his back, and he couldn't help but notice how well he fit there, leaning against him. Liet didn't seem to mind the fact that both his hair and clothes were still damp from the rain. "You're welcome," he replied faintly, feeling the Lithuanian relax against him.

Coffee every day was sounding better by the minute.

-x-X-x-

-x-X-x-

Toris shut the book when he finally finished it. He lay_ Sarunas_ on the bedside table of the infirmary, watching the sleeping man with heavy eyes.

"I saw the blood tests myself," Toris said tiredly to the American who was standing by his side. "There were no significant traces of any drugs. The sedative wore off several hours ago, but Ivan's still not waking up." He groaned and tilted his head back, covering his face.

Alfred frowned and leaned forward, observing the Russian carefully. "Why? He's been out for two days. This is getting ridiculous."

Toris straightened his back and took one of Ivan's hands, squeezing it tightly. He wanted a response, a reaction—anything. "It's like… It's like he doesn't want to wake up. Sometimes he talks in his sleep, but that's the most life I can get out of him."

"What did the doctor say?"

Toris lifted the heavy hand to his face, burying his nose into the white knuckles. "They think there's a risk he'll lose control once he wakes up. They wanted to lock him up again and hook him up to a steady input of medication, but I told them 'no'. So here he is now, still asleep."

Alfred gently pat him on the shoulder. "You should take a break."

Toris shook his head and Alfred took his hand away. "I'm afraid to. I'm afraid of what these people can do when no one else is watching."

"But…" he trailed off into silence for a moment before he spoke up again. "I'll bring you some stuff to eat. You almost look as pale as him."

Toris looked over his shoulder to smile gratefully at him. "Thank you. I really appreciate it. My stomach is killing me."

Alfred gave him his own signature grin. "It's no problem, I'll be right back."

He looked over back at Ivan when Alfred left. The Russian's hand jerked in his hold and Toris's eyes widened. A fat tear gathered at the corner of Ivan's closed eye and he reached out to dab it away with his sleeve.

_Ivan, what are you dreaming about?_

-x-X-x-

-x-X-x-

Liet shivered when Ivan lowered his foot into a tub of ice-cold water. Ivan was kneeling on the Lithuanian's bathroom floor while the other was sitting on the edge of his bathtub.

Ivan felt the foot jerk as he tried to massage it. "Does it feel worse?"

Liet shook his head. "No… it just feels sensitive. I don't think I'll be able to use my foot for a while."

Ivan nodded and carefully rested the foot at the bottom of the tub. "Where do you keep your bandages?"

"Top cabinet by the mirror," Liet said, pointing to said cabinet. Ivan got up, cautious not to bump into Liet since the bathroom was mildly cramped. He popped open the metal-rimmed door, revealing several shelves lined with bottles and ointments. He picked a roll of peach-colored bandages and sat back down on the linoleum.

He grabbed the nearest towel and slowly lifted Liet's foot from the cold water, drying it off. Ivan looked up at him while he worked, noticing that his cheeks were flushed with pain. "I'm sorry."

His eyelids drooped over his vivid irises when he replied, "You have careful hands, Ivan. It's only the towel—there's nothing to be sorry about."

"No, it isn't that. I mean…" Ivan focused on his work again. "I'm sorry for yelling at you. Don't get me wrong, I was never angry with you." He thought it was a little too late to tell Liet he had a problem, but he needed to start somewhere. "I don't think I could ever be. You've done nothing but help me."

Liet was quiet and Ivan wondered if he really did say too much this time.

When he spoke, his voice was measured and deliberate. "The things you saw during your time away from home… They were horrible, weren't they?"

He pat down the skin, making sure no drop of moisture remained. "We were sent there to prevent any conflict from breaking out between the villages. After they captured and strung our commander from a post, we realized we were not welcome there." His hands trembled as he struggled to untangle a knot in the bandage. What was he doing?

"…Why didn't anyone take you back?"

He started to wrap the elastic bandage, starting at the groove of his foot. "The mountains we were in were inaccessible to trucks and cars. There were few landing spots for a chopper, and we were cut off from the only one we knew about—the one we arrived from in the first place." Ivan tried to bite his tongue to keep himself from talking, but now that he had started, words only seemed to spill from his mouth uncontrollably. "We were picked off like rats. Our superiors tried to guide us to safety, but only a few of us made it. Even back home, I was not welcomed. I was accused of murdering my best friend when he was the one who tried to kill me. It makes a nice drama, yes?" A strained chuckle. "Do you think I'm lucky to have survived that, Liet?"

Ivan looked up at Liet again as he watched Ivan wrap up his foot. His face was pale, but his expression wasn't one of pity. No, it was something deeper—something more intricate than that.

"But they didn't find you guilty. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here still."

"No, you're right. They decided I was innocent." He tightened the wrappings and Liet winced again. "Is it too tight?"

"No…" He studied the bandages. "My skin just feels hot and thin. Are we done?"

Ivan nodded and finished off the knotting before taking the tub of water and dumping it down the drain. He cleaned up the leftover bandages and packed them back into the cabinet. Liet slowly got up and Ivan helped him regain his balance. "I think you should see a doctor about it," his words had a tinge of guilt to them.

Liet smiled at him as they made their way out of the bathroom. "I don't think I need to. It feels much better, thank you."

The room seemed to grow warmer as he led him into the living room. Liet left his arm and collapsed onto the sofa. "I'm sorry, we should've taken care of your clothes first."

Ivan shook off his apology. He was the one who insisted they take care of his injury first—there was no need to apologize. "Should I hang them?"

Liet pointed past him towards a door. "There's a washer and dryer in there. You can use both if you'd like."

After entering the secluded room and stripping down, he dumped his clothes into the drying machine and set the timer. It rocked and churned as it started up, and Ivan stepped towards the door again to request something to cover himself up with.

However, the first thing that happened to him next was having an oversized towel draped over his shoulders and wrapped across his front. Ivan blinked, flushing deeply as he instinctively drew back. "Ah…" Though he did have to admit, after freeing himself from his wet clothes, the soft towel felt good against his skin.

Liet didn't seem to notice his embarrassment when he turned and limped back to sit down.

"I can't stay for long," Ivan said as he took a seat on the opposite side, trying to cover up as much of his body as possible. For some reason, he hated telling him that. "I stay at a government-run building that I'm supposed to sleep at every night. They weren't happy when I went missing that one day."

Liet stiffened. "That was my fault. I'm sorry, I had no idea—"

Ivan shook his head. "It's a horrible place. In some parts, it smells like chemicals, and in other parts, just plain blood. It's just something short of an ordinary hospital. If I had a choice, I'd never return to that place."

Liet placed his hands down on his lap. Strangely, he seemed more skittish around him than usual. "You don't have a choice?"

"On the surface, it appears so." He was driveling again. "But they drove me into a corner. I wasn't given much of a choice…" He couldn't stop there. What was wrong with him? "I…"

He talked and Liet listened. The words flowed from his mouth as if it were something natural. His chest loosened as he told him about the pain, the guilt, the loneliness he was put through. Words didn't matter, but Liet took in everything he had, everything he _wanted_ to say. He no longer knew what he was saying anymore when those beryl depths drew him in, captivating him. His meaningful gaze and empathy kept him going and Ivan continued to reveal things he had silently promised himself never to tell anyone.

He felt as if those eyes were cutting him apart, dissecting and reading every shred of emotion he had. He expected a sensation like that to be difficult and painful, but with him, he felt right. There was nothing wrong with this—there was nothing wrong with speaking. That was what he was being told.

Evening dimmed to the first hour of night and Ivan ran out of words to spill. His shoulders felt lighter, but he knew it would be foolish to think he was cured. The churning from the machine behind them came to a stop, and Ivan got up. Liet looked up at him, and Ivan tried his best to avoid his gaze.

He took his now warm and dry clothes from the dryer and shook them out. Dust flew everywhere as he pulled his bottom on, leaning against the wall to keep his balance. He saw the door close in another inch, guessing Liet was standing against it.

He unrolled the sleeves of his shirt as he spoke, "Doesn't it grow old to you?"

"…What does, Ivan?"

"Giving away a piece of yourself to everyone you meet, listening to miserable men and their ramblings. How can you stand it?"

Ivan waited for his answer. He rolled his shoulders, slipping the shirt on.

"How do you know its 'everyone I meet'? What… What if it's just you?"

His heart jerked and the buttons of the shirt slipped between his fingers. "But it isn't…" He responded quietly. "It's _not_ just me." Ivan wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Liet or himself. "Because you're that type of person, Liet."

_You're that type of person to give, and give everything you have. You can't go on like this—you can't help everyone, and you can't save me either._

"I don't know." The door creaked loudly when it swayed another inch. "I've been doing what I've always done. It feels right to me… I never thought about what I couldn't do, but what I _could_ do. Does that sound strange to you?"

"No," he said simply, finishing with buttoning up his front. "But sometimes I just don't understand it." He slipped his coat over himself, his whole body now enveloped in fresh heat. "Finished."

Liet opened the door all the way, looking him over. "It's a wonder how much dry clothes can help your appearances." He smiled faintly, stepping out of the way. "Well then again, anything's better than wet clothes."

Ivan walked past him and his fingers brushed against his arm. From the corner of his eye, he saw Liet rub his wrist when he thought the other wasn't looking. When he turned to face him again, however, his expression didn't hide a drop of revulsion or the like.

"I should probably go," he told him, "It's getting late, and I've bothered you enough."

Liet showed him to the door. "You shouldn't always think like that."

Ivan walked down the few steps, feeling his gaze on his back. He turned around. "It's the way I feel."

Liet shook his head. "No it isn't… I… I think you're my friend, Ivan." His face was straight, reflecting sincerity. As much as he told himself otherwise, Liet wasn't lying to him or more importantly, pouring blind sympathy on him. "You don't have to deal with everything alone. Everything that happens to you… It doesn't have to be your fault."

He felt a pain in his chest and his eyes burned. "But it isn't your fault either. It would be cowardly of me to put the blame on anyone else but myself."

Liet sighed lightly. "_Ne. _There doesn't always have to be blame or fault. Nothing good ever comes out of it."

Ivan bent his neck back. The city was too bright to allow the stars to show. "My comrades would be ashamed."

Liet stepped down and took both of his hands. Ivan looked at him in surprise, but he didn't tug his hands away.

"They would be happy that you're still alive, Ivan. Because of you, they didn't die for no reason."

Ivan lowered his gaze before fully resting his eyes. His tongue felt thick in his mouth and he couldn't speak. He wanted to believe Liet was merely creating excuses for him, but he couldn't bring himself to detect any dishonesty in his words. He tried to take deep breathes to clear his head, but his lungs only trembled.

After moments of discomfort, gentle arms finally wrapped around him and his chest was steady again.

**- - x – X – x - -**

_Short chapter is short and late, my apologies orz. I've been hit by writer's block when I started writing the last part of this chapter. This was originally supposed to be done by Monday, but things didn't go as planned 9n9; It's a new week, which means new projects are assigned and I'm barely finding enough time to do anything outside of writing. Because of this, I'll have to extend the update dates to being two weeks apart. I can't find time to do anything else when I have to have a proof-read chapter every week orz. Believe me guys, I'm seriously trying. I dedicate seven days a week to writing and proofing, so it takes a while. Please bear with me :c I hope you all won't mind the change too much._

_There was a lot of hinting revolving around Liet in this chapter. Kudos if you caught the few :D_

_Also, once again, speculation is more than welcome. But as the author, I can't tell you if you're right or wrong, and If I can't answer most of your question then I'm sorry, but I hope I can continue to receive your awesome feedback._

_Love._


	8. Dependence

_**Author: **__Kaisre  
__**Rating: **__T  
__**Summary: **__Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **__Lithuania / Toris, Russia / Ivan, America / Alfred_

_

* * *

_

**_- Lamentia -_**

**_- VIII -_**

**_

* * *

_**

The clock struck nine in the morning and Ivan was still stuck sitting in the middle of a deserted hall that led to the operating room.

Sweaty palms were clamped together, his thumbs twisting around each other in anticipation. His back was hunched as he pressed the joints of his thumbs to his lips, staring hard at the tile floors with bloodshot eyes. He looked to his right to rest his gaze on the man who was always beside him. This was the man that took him in and drove him to the hospital without asking a single question upon Ivan's request. Even now that they were finally at the hospital itself, he didn't pry in the slightest way.

Ivan figured it must have been agonizingly painful for Liet to wait in polite silence, even if it didn't show on his face. Ivan took one of those slender hands and pressed his forehead to it in a way as if he were praying. Liet made a soft noise but held back tenderly, understanding the dependency without complaint.

"It struck her from the side," Ivan whispered. "S-she smashed her head against the window and the glass broke—t-they told me…" Sensing the instability in his voice, Liet quickly pulled him against himself.

"_Nekalbek_. You can tell me later, Ivan. It'll be too painful to say anything now."

He shook his head, gripping onto the front of Liet's shirt. "She's my big sister, L-Liet…" The Lithuanian gripped him tighter, but he couldn't stop. "If… If she's gone, then…" He made a hoarse noise. Why couldn't he control himself? Why couldn't he retain his composure and dignity?

Was it because Yekaterina was on the verge of death, or...? Ivan shook his head again—thinking about it only made his eyes and nose burn even more. He swallowed thickly, tasting salt.

Liet spoke gently, "Then nothing. She's still here, so don't speak as if she were gone." Ivan wondered how he could sound so confident. He wasn't allowed into the room with Yekaterina. He had remained outside, waiting for Ivan to come out when he was ready. However, because of that, he wasn't there to see the terrible gash that almost penetrated through his sister's skull—Ivan already ran out of his own confidence.

He had seen strong men hung and shot before his eyes without shedding a tear. Losing a comrade delivered pain unimaginable, but with his _sister…_

_Why am I still alive?_

"It is easy for you to say, yes…?" Ivan spoke numbly, even when his emotions were dictating his every word. "Your own sister is not the one who's dying. You're not the one who must sit idly and cry because the doctors say you will only get in the way…" He paused. "I _hate _doctors."

Something warm ran down the locks of his hair, and Ivan found himself leaning into the comfort despite himself.

"…It's understandable to hate them, but they're trying everything they can to help her."

"Why?" Ivan demanded. "Why would they care enough to _do_ anything? They _don't_ care, but I do, and I cannot do a thing. She's my sister, and when she needs me the most, I cannot be there with her."

The movement stopped and for a moment, the only thing Ivan could hear was their synchronizing heartbeats.

"But you're still here for her."

He shook his head, trying to disregard his reasoning. "What about you, Liet? What about your own brothers? Why are you with a stranger when you can be back home with them?" He grimaced. "Don't you care?"

He expected Liet to shout at him, to call him out in his lack of gratitude or restraint. Instead, the other man only pulled away from him while he still held onto his shoulders. A strange smile curved his lips, but it lacked the mirth and sincerity his previous gestures carried. Ivan's heart tightened in regret—perhaps he really did go too far this time.

Liet's voice remained composed and soft-spoken. "You're not a stranger to me, Ivan. I know my family is safe—they don't need me, and I don't have to worry about them."

Ivan sighed as he leaned into him again. This conversation was going no where—he couldn't understand how this person could sound and feel so sure about things that were impossible to be sure of. Liet couldn't confirm everything—he wasn't magic. He couldn't guarantee his own family's safety, nor could he guarantee Yekaterina's life. However, despite his constant composure, Ivan couldn't spot a speck of indifference or carelessness in his tone of voice. Was it possible to still care if one couldn't feel a thing?

"…I wish I was with them," Ivan whispered. "I believed the only thing that held me back was myself." His gaze wandered to the end of the deserted hall, resting on the closed paneled doors. "Apparently, I am wrong about that too. You should spend time with your siblings, yes? Especially when I don't have a choice myself." He pulled away again and leaned against the stoic hospital walls instead of Liet's body, staring ahead miserably.

With his arms nothing to hold, Liet's hands found their way onto his own lap. He was oddly quiet.

Ivan looked towards him. "It's true isn't it?"

His head tilted loosely to the side, glazed eyes resting on him. That same sad smiled crossed his face again. "...There isn't a thing in this world that can hurt them. Ivan, they're not here anymore."

"..." The frigid water of ice-cold realization splashed across his face, running down the length of his torso like icicles. He opened his mouth to utter a quick apology before the paneled doors at the end of the hall burst open, stealing their attention.

One of the surgeons appeared before them, pulling down the paper-thin mask from his face to speak. Ivan's eyes widened as he grabbed Liet's hand in fear, blood pounding within his veins with unbearable anticipation.

"She'll survive. We stabilized her condition and patched her head up. She'll be fine after a weeks rest in the hospital. You won't have to worry anymore."

Time seemed to stop right then and there and he enveloped the Lithuanian in a bone-crushing hug, laughing in relief. Liet let out a muffled cry of protest when he was taking by surprise, but he was still happy for him none the less. Ivan hugged him tighter before letting go, his eyes brighter than ever as he smiled widely.

"You were right, Liet. She's… she's…" He laughed again, relief washing away his previous pains. He rose from his seat and tugged Liet along with him. "Come, I have never introduced you to my family, yes?"

The surgeon shook his head and stopped them. Frowning, Ivan let go of the other's wrist, looking at the doctor expectantly. "Braginskaya is too exhausted for any unnecessary visitors. Only immediate family members will be allowed into the ward for a short period of time."

"Liet's done more than what I've seen blood-relatives do for us." His frown deepened, as he looked towards Liet. "He _is_ family. He's done more than enough for us, and he shouldn't be forced to wait any longer."

Green eyes widened and Ivan felt something strange wiggle in his gut when he noticed the faint concentration of color in the other's cheeks. He looked away, flushing in his own embarrassment.

Despite the two, the surgeon did not relent to him. "No, having too many visitors will prove stressful for her, hindering the recovery. Friends and significant others will be allowed after she has progressed in health."

Ivan parted his lips to protest but Liet cut across him. "It's fine, Ivan. Go ahead and join your sisters—I'm sure Natalya is tired of waiting."

His eyebrows furrowed, hurt leaking into his gaze. Liet himself lost all of his chances to see his own loved-ones. For the first time in years, Ivan felt like he was the lucky one. He knew the feeling of loneliness well and he didn't want to leave Liet alone in a place like this. He didn't want anything more than to share his happiness and relief with him—it was the absolute least he could do.

"But Liet…"

The Lithuanian lifted a finger to his lips, smiling faintly. "Don't whine like that. I don't mind, so you shouldn't as well. Go on and don't worry about me. I'll still be waiting here for you when you're done."

Ivan could barely mutter a simple 'thank you' when he turned his back to him, the surgeon leading him away.

He wanted to tell him that he didn't have to wait for him anymore—but the truth was, he didn't want to be left behind again either.

-x-X-x-

It felt like his eyes were stitched shut when he tried to open them. His face was stiff, his limbs weak and feeble. He groaned faintly and someone rushed to his side, dabbing his face with a warm washcloth. Ivan tried to shake the attendant off, only to realize that it was Toris and not one of the others.

_Toris_…

He tried to speak, but his tongue was fat and swollen, stuck to the roof of his mouth.

"Ivan…?" His voice was soft and tentative. "Ivan… are you finally awake?"

He gave him a small nod, hoping the younger man would notice it. He didn't even bother to speak when he felt how dry and stiff his throat was.

Toris let out a sigh of relief and began wiping at his eyes—Ivan slowly eased them open as he did so. He was stunned to find himself in a different room, hooked up to various machines and counters. Toris was holding one of his paralyzed hands with his own while the other continued to dab at his face. His eyelids dipped in reverence.

"I was worried. Your whole body must hurt, I'm sorry. How's your vision? Do you feel light-headed?"

His chapped lips cracked and bled when he smiled at his doting. He shook his head at every one of his questions, trying his best to squeeze his hand reassuringly.

_Don't leave, Toris. I'm fine, so please don't leave._

He tilted his head, pressing his cheek against the flat pillow as he shakily lifted a weak hand. His fingers cupped together, framing the side of his face tenderly. Those precious eyes that few possessed widened slightly, and Toris took a hold of that hand too.

_You've been by my side, da?_

His watering eyes moved toward the ceiling, resting upon one of the fluorescent lights. He felt like lucidity was finally within his grasp, but the corner of his mouth twitched—he couldn't let himself be fooled again.

"Toris…" His voice was nothing more than a scruffy rasp. He grimaced when the walls of his throat scraped up against each other, causing his pipe to burn. Toris hurried to help him sit up, grabbing a glass of water and pressing it to his lips, tilting it slightly. Unable to grasp the cup, Ivan drank from the glass clumsily as Toris wiped up and drops that escaped his lips. The cool water soothed the pain, and he coughed to clear his throat, taking the rim of the glass between his lips again.

Pleased, Toris smiled and pulled away the glass, drying his wet lips. "More water?"

He shook his head with some difficulty and Toris set the glass down, waiting for him to speak.

He swallowed and coughed again. "Where are we…?"

Toris leaned over to the side and fixed with something. "You were sleeping for so long—I had to take you here. It's a reserved area of the infirmary."

Ivan stared down at him arms, his brows wrinkling when he found several dark bruises scattered over his arms. He guessed they must've been several days old, but he didn't remember receiving them.

Toris caught his staring and frowned down at the dark blotches as well. "Ivan, do you know where these came from? They haven't healed in the slightest bit since I first saw them."

His muscles cried out in protest and be lifted his own arm closer to himself. They looked horrible and strangely familiar, but they didn't ache or tingle. "I don't remember—" He froze, a single thought coming back to him. "They… They told me you left." He eyes rose and rested on him, darkening. "That you would never come back, _da_? I did not believe them, but who am I to know truth from lies?"

Bewilderment crossed Toris's face as if he sincerely did not know what he was talking about. It grew easier to talk as Ivan went on, "I told them, 'Toris is faithful. He is not two-faced like you all'. Ah, that did not please them." He chuckled mirthlessly and stared off. "They said something, Toris—something about you that I do not remember. I cannot recall anything after that."

Toris looked liked something was bothering him and Ivan tilted his head, unsure of what to expect from the Lithuanian. "You don't… remember anything?"

"I said I didn't," he replied simply. His mouth pulled into another frown. "Why didn't you come for me, Toris? If only you were there, I could have proved them wrong."

His foresty gaze lowered in what seemed like shame or guilt. "I'm sorry," he spoke lowly.

He leaned to the side, closer towards him. His face grew close to Toris's as he tried to study his expression. The other seemed to be holding back words—there was definitely something he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the means to do so. Ivan knew that feeling well. "Toris?"

He shook his head and looked up again, brown bangs partially shielding his eyes. Ivan's heart lurched when he realized how tired the other looked up close. "I…" He trailed off and tried again. "I was sick for a little bit. I came to see you later than day, and then we brought you here. So you really don't remember a thing." He bit his lip, appearing disconcerted.

"Mmh…" He casually fell forward against him. Toris let out a startled sound, almost toppling under his weight, but he held onto him. "It has been a long time since then, hasn't it? My body feels weak, Toris."

"You'll get better…" Toris assured him. "You've been in bed for days. I'll take you out to wash up later, is that alright?"

He nodded, his cheek and nose rubbing against his shoulder. "The room… Will we go back?"

"Yes," Toris answered, helping him back up against the bed and fixing the covers over his middle. "I think I can take you back on my own."

"I do not like hospitals…" He sighed and laid back, the pillow puffing in. "They are _always_ too cold. Always smells like blood and medicine as well, _da_?"

Toris sat back down on his seat, his hands folded on his lap. "I suppose so, but hospitals aren't about death and dying. They save people too, don't they?"

Ivan stared past him, nodding slowly. In his mind's eye, he could see his sister's resting body laying in a hospital bed. Bandages had covered the worst of her wounds, but her normally agitated expression was put at ease while she slept. Ivan found himself smiling, and he looked down, thistle rims refocusing on the clear tubes that were inserted into the joints of his arms. Ivan moved to pull the wires out but Toris stopped him.

"Not yet… You haven't eaten in days so you still need this."

He scoffed and tried to push against him, but Toris didn't let go. "I don't need this."

_...I need you_.

Toris shook his head, dark locks shaking back and forth. He brushed his bangs back behind a ear before gently laying Ivan's hands away from each other. "You do—I don't want you falling into a deep sleep again. You need the energy."

Ivan stuck out his bottom lip and turned his face away. "Why should I settle for this when I can have Toris's food brought to me every day?"

Toris blinked. "E-eh… You want my cooking?"

He turned back to him, a sly grin on his face. "_Da_, of course. It'll make me better much faster, yes?"

Toris huffed and Ivan chuckled in amusement. His cheeks were slightly flushed in embarrassment as he said, "I've spoiled you, haven't I?" Ivan could almost laugh at his mildly-irritated expression. "Well… What would you like then, Ivan?"

His smile fell into a look of deep consideration. "Uhm… Can we have that strange bread again?"

-x-X-x-

Eyes glazed, Toris was smiling to himself when he closed the door behind him with a soft click. However, if he hadn't looked up, he would've ran into another man.

He wiped the smile off his face, a look of cold seriousness taking over his features. "He's not open to visitors."

"Says you," Marcel spat with equal venom.

If it weren't for the situation, Toris would've admit Marcel did look ridiculous with the nose cast.

Feeling abnormally bold, he asked, "Does your face still hurt?"

An eye twitched and Toris almost expected the worst from him. "Mind your own business. You're just as nosy as the American." He tried to push past Toris, but he blocked the doorway, standing firm.

"I said Ivan isn't open to visitors. He's still recovering."

He surveyed him. "And if I'm not a visitor?"

Toris stepped forward, trying to distance Marcel and himself further away from the door. "I tend to all his needs, so no one else needs to see him. What do you want from him? He's already exhausted enough."

Marcel sneered. "That shouldn't be your problem. Know your place, Intern."

"I do," Toris said, unfazed by the hostility. "My place is with my patient. I won't let anyone see him if it endangers his health."

Marcel jabbed him in the collar. "I don't care about your liking for the Russian-It's more disgusting than anything. We need someone who can follow directions, not someone to soften up the prisoners here." With that, he gave him another sneer before turning his back on him, walking back where he came from.

"I know what you did to him on Monday."

Marcel stopped in his tracks. Toris expected either a denial or an excuse. He received neither and the other walked away for good.

-x-X-x-

Alfred spread the old newspaper in front of him uncapping a highlighter with his teeth. He moved the newspaper until the desired article was spread right in front of him. He smoothed out the wrinkles and folds before marking down three names.

_Alexander Dorov  
Andrei Osmanovic  
Jakob Petrovitch_

_"Three veterans from Russia and Serbia respectively..._" Alfred murmured through selective reading. "_Part of the many squads put together and organized by several East European countries... Petrovitch died by alcohol poisoning shortly after his homecoming day." _He frowned and copied the names down on another piece of paper. He folded the newspaper and shoved it away in one of the drawers of his desk. Alfred recognized the names—they were three of the four survivors from the tragedy in Afghanistan. Braginsky was one of them, but two of the men were cited as the last survivors after Petrovitch died. Ivan wasn't mentioned or suggested in the article at all.

He slid open another drawer and pulled out the Russian's files—copies of the papers that he gave Toris during his briefing. He scanned the information that was given to him, the numbers, the stats. Nothing out of the ordinary popped out at him like he hoped.

Alfred pulled out the newspaper for a second time, scanning the article again to search for any details he missed. He flipped to the obituaries as if there might've been something there, but there wasn't. He sighed in frustration and shoved all the papers away in a single drawer.

He didn't make progress, but his boss was expecting another report by tomorrow. Gritting his teeth, he ripped himself a scrap of paper and uncapped a pen.

_Alexander Dorov, Andrei Osmanovic, Jakob Petrovitch—Definitely dead. No (?)'s..._

_(?) Ivan Braginsky—can't get info on him outside of the Visailis database. _

_No connections to the events in Moscow after the trip last week._

_Laurinaitis is harmless. No answers yet._

_-_x-X-x-

"Uhm, Alfred? These are leftovers from dinner and I was wondering—oh..." He frowned in disappointment at the empty cubicle. It wasn't even seven yet and the other man had apparently left already. He left the takeout box on the cleanest part of the desk, searching the rest of the mess for some sort of note. Putting his hands on his hips, he took a step back and bumped into the side of the desk, knocking over a photo frame which toppled and fell, but Toris caught it before it hit the floor. He sighed in relief.

There were three men in the photo, and it didn't take long for Toris to realize that one of them was Alfred. The American now looked the same as he did back then—young, bright, and always smiling. He had his arms around two other guys, most likely his good friends he remembered the other mentioning fondly. All three of them were wearing dark blue jackets with red and yellow accents. He couldn't read the patches that were sewn onto them, but he recognized the designs as something from a university's logo. He curled his hand back and wiped the dust off the surface of the glass.

He pat his sleeve of dust before flipping the frame over. There was a note scribbled in silver ink. Toris couldn't read the English but he figured it must've been some goodwill note. Pulling the leg out, Toris propped the photo back were it belonged.

As he moved his eyes away, he noticed a sheet of paper poking out from the mess.

_... I shouldn't be poking around through his stuff._

Curiosity got the better of him and he carefully pulled the paper from between two books messily laid on top of each other. Attached with a paperclip was a torn piece of paper with more English written on it. He scanned through the note even though he could barely understand a word. However, from what he could tell, the paper contained a list of names, including Ivan's. His eyes widened and his mouth curved into a puzzled frown when he recognized his own name near the end of the note. Lifting it up, he looked to see what was printed on the attached paper. It seemed to be an ID of sorts—Alfred's black and white photo was positioned on the left side, along with more obscure writing. The American looked so different without that usual smile and the bright color to his eyes and hair. Printed on top of the writing was a complex seal that brandished a rampant eagle. Toris immediately recognized it as American, but there was something strange about the whole paper.

Why would Alfred even have—?

"Toris?"

He whirled and around, hiding the paper behind his back. His heart beat wildly in panic and shame as he tried his best to slip the paper back where he found it. "Oh, there you are."

The blonde blinked. "What are you doing here? Were you looking for me?"

Toris nodded and moved away from the desk. "Yeah. Um, did you already eat?"

Alfred groaned and held his stomach. "I wish I did. It's already past dinnertime, but Lanka called me to her office to yell at me for what happened Sunday night."

"Sunday night? You mean you actually told them—?"

"Shh." Blue eyes darted back and forth before Alfred looked over his shoulder, checking to make sure no one was listening to them. "No, I don't mean that. Truth was, I wasn't supposed to be there last night—they never assigned me a shift. I—hey, why are you looking at me like that?" He held his hands up defensively at Toris's accusing look. "I was covering a shift for a friend. He couldn't make it so I wanted to be a good guy and step in for him even though that was the same day I came back from Moscow. I signed in and everything, but apparently, helping a friend out isn't allowed."

Toris sighed and looked away. He wasn't any better than Alfred. "Are you in trouble?"

He shook his head. "No... I explained to her and she threatened to send me to her husband." He laughed nervously. "Um, he doesn't really show himself that much around here but he's the one who really runs this place. Anyway, I heard he isn't as tame as... uhm... her..." He twiddled his thumbs together. "She considered dismissing me with the first batch of layoffs."

"They're... oh..." Toris didn't need to ask what he was talking about. Numerous emails, memos, and bulletins where posted shortly after Toris arrived as the new intern here. They were relocating the doctors and patients batch by batch till the facility was prepared for renovation. "Are you on probation then?"

"Er... Maybe."

"Maybe?"

Alfred ran a hand through his hair stressfully. "I've always been under their careful watch. Remember when I said no one really liked me at this place? I can't say I've tried hard to gain their favor—okay, maybe a little bit, but no veteran worker here takes kindly to guys like me. Guys who don't shut up, behave, and do as their told."

"Like me," Toris said bluntly.

"Like yo—no, wait, not like you. I'm not saying you're like them, Toris. In fact, I think you're the opposite. My gut-feeling about you was right from the start. I mean, you do as you're told and all, but you're young too, and you have your own ideas and methods."

_That doesn't mean they like me any better._

He couldn't tell if he was only rambling or being honest. "I... try my best. I haven't been given a chance to offer any psychotherapy to anyone other than Ivan."

"But no one was able to get him to talk. Only you."

Toris looked away and turned his back to him, picking up the takeout box that was sitting on the desk. There was something that was bothering him and he couldn't stand it anymore. "I brought food."

"Yes!" Alfred shouted, drawing out the word with much enthusiasm. Toris was amazed at his sudden change in mood despite himself. "Is it American? I think I'm sick of all things European, no offense."

He smiled crookedly, popping the lid open. "I think the French say, ah, _bon appetit."_

His expression fell when Alfred saw what was inside of the box. "...Oh god, are those _onions?" _He wrinkled his nose and turned his face away. The whole situation was so amusing—Toris couldn't even bring himself to be offended. "It looks like the bread—that's bread right? The bread threw up all over the inside the tray. What _is_ this?"

Toris laughed and drew the food back. "Something I cooked."

Alfred looked at him in a way as if he were trying to see if he was joking or not. "What, really? Oh man, I'm _so so _sorry. But honestly, it looks... Oh god, no, don't eat it!"

Toris chewed and swallowed a tiny bite. "Why not? I made it myself, and besides, Ivan likes it. He, um, likes everything I cook, actually."

"Ivan likes...? And you cook..." He flinched again when Toris took another bite. The brunette shut the onion-stuffed bread away when he was done teasing the other. Alfred let out a deep breath when the strong stench was finally dulled.

"We have breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. Or at least, I try to have it together since I have my busy days."

Alfred raised a brow, apparently finding the thought of him eating together with Ivan ridiculous. "_Why?_"

Toris shrugged. "Why not? At first, he didn't trust me, of course. I knew he suspected it was poisoned or poorly cooked. I think... I think the food here made him sick." He frowned, remembering Ivan's reluctance to eat. "He has a naturally large and strong build, but his features were drawn when I first met him. He wasn't eating enough, and I don't think anyone cared. It was only about the medicine—give Ivan the medicine, force him to take it, then get out before he broke your nose."

Alfred grinned. "Marcel."

He returned the grin. "Yes, Marcel. Speaking of him, he ran into me earlier."

The smile was wiped from his face and Alfred almost looked... scared. "What did he want?"

"He wanted to get into Ivan's room. He didn't tell me why and I didn't let him in. He uh... said I was being too soft for my job and walked away." He narrowed his eyes and glared at Alfred's shoulder. "He doesn't have anything nice to say about you either."

"Figures." Alfred didn't look surprised. "He hates me. He hates my guts—maybe even more than Ivan's. If there's one person who can sum up how horrible this place is, it's Marcel. Leave it up to him to ruin your day. He used to be Ivan's caretaker, remember?"

Toris nodded. "Yeah... I remember. Ivan mentioned him before, I think."

"Ivan hates him. If Marcel passed through just once during an examination, he'd freaking growl. I swear if it weren't for the drugs to keep him calm, he'd jump up and maul him right then and there. I think it was a good thing for everyone when you came along."

Toris laughed bitterly. "I think everyone expected me to be mauled on my first day. A friend... he's a pharmacy technician, not a psychologist, told me it was strange of them to put Ivan under my responsibility so soon. I was the new intern, so there was nothing much to lose, right?" He didn't feel right saying this. Ivan never raised a hand against him. He'd never done a thing to hurt or spite him. His expression immediately fell when he suddenly remembered those tearful and desperate embraces. "I... I have to go, Alfred, and I think you should too. The workday is almost over and I still have homework to do."

Alfred nodded and the two left the office together. Toris looked over his shoulder, thinking about all the things that happened in such a short period of time. He wanted to ask Alfred about his name and the paper he found, but he didn't want to admit he was snooping around his stuff too. It probably had nothing to do with the facility anyway.

Sleep... Sleep sounded good right now.

**- x - X - x -**

_Nekalbu- "Don't speak." According to a translator, it means both the negative and positive sides of the command, so it can mean "speak" as well. I'm confused, can anyone bother clearing this up for me?_

_Surprisingly, I made this on time. I had plans for this on Saturday, but it turns out I didn't have internet at the place when I was driving to. Fortunately though, my bro's apartment here in AZ has all the internet I need haha. It isn't as long as I hoped, but I included more of the things I planned out. _

_Also, I've mentioned this in the past chapters, but Liet and Ivan are the **same** age, but Ivan is 3-4 years older than Toris. In other words, it would be impossible for Toris to be Liet's reincarnation. I hope I've cleared that up. _

_Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed it :) Thank you for sticking with me so far!_


	9. Love and Fear

_**Author: **__Kaisre  
__**Rating: **__T  
__**Summary: **__Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **__Lithuania // Toris, Russia // Ivan, America // Alfred_

_

* * *

_

_**- Lamentia -**_

_**-IX-**_

_**

* * *

**_

"So… you're leaving?"

Ivan was leaning over a fairly-old textbook, staring at the man beside him with crestfallen eyes. The two of them were sitting before a lighted desk that faced an open window, giving them a clear view of the streets before them. Occasionally, lights and elongated shadows would stretch across the room and walls when a car passed by, partially covered by swaying branches.

"You didn't tell me this before, Liet."

The brunette sighed and pushed the book a little closer towards Ivan. "I just told you now though, Ivan. Let's get back to the lesson—we need to review."

"But you're _leaving_. Why?"

Liet gave him a sympathetic look and scooted in a little closer to him, leaning against his arm. "I thought you knew it was inevitable. I'm only a student here… Besides, we still have months before the school year ends, and that's plenty of time for us."

Ivan stared down at the foreign words printed in the textbook. Some of their meanings registered him, but otherwise, he was still pretty much illiterate in the language. "It will go by too fast…" he mumbled dejectedly, flipping to a page that went over common greetings.

Liet propped his face onto his elbow, looking at him meaningfully. "We can't change that," he admitted gently. "But we can get the most out of our days. It'll be enough for us in the end. I'll have to return to my old campus eventually."

Ivan spared him a look before staring off elsewhere again. "Would you miss m…" He bit his tongue. "Would you miss Russia?"

He smiled softly and Ivan's stomach fluttered foolishly. "I will. I have gotten so used to this place. Kaunas and Moscow are very different, but still similar in several ways. I miss my home, but this place is still very beautiful in my eyes."

His cheeks grew warm and he didn't know why. Liet's praise of his home flattered him to an odd extent as he murmured sheepishly, "Sometimes it is not that great…"

Liet nudged him. "I believe every place has its flaws, but its own unique beauty as well. That goes for all the little things in life, Ivan. Take pride in the things that define who you are. Moscow is your home, isn't it?"

"It is, but sometimes I feel as if I'm bound to this place.. Like I can't leave."

_I want to leave with you._

Liet shifted and Ivan rest his chin on top of his head, the brown wisps of hair tickling his nose. "Because this place still holds meaning to you. I think you know what, Ivan."

"I'm still being tracked. I am still being observed and scrutinized. They wouldn't let me leave easily."

Liet leaned his head back and Ivan's chin was balancing on his nose. "Is that what's really stopping you?"

He stared at the bulb of the lamp standing in front of them. Thinking deeply, his eyes watered as his gaze unfocused. Liet was right and he couldn't fool him. He could rip himself away from the organization and their treatment if he tried hard enough, but that wasn't the problem…

Moscow had always symbolized a beacon of hope to him. It was difficult at first, but arriving at this city for the first time in him life gave him the long-absent sense of security and sanctuary. This was not his hometown—he was not born here, but this was still his home all the same. This city gave him the support to start new, to _forget_…

"It isn't…" Ivan admitted. Liet's nose tickled his neck and his couldn't help but smile. "I think this place has grown on to me too much, even after spending so much time away from it."

"Then you already understand, don't you? I cannot stay away from _Lietuva _any longer than you can from here."

Ivan put his hands on his waist and rested his chin upon the other's shoulder now. Liet smiled instead of brushing him off.

"What is your home like, Liet?"

"Mmh… It's beautiful," he chuckled at his own broad statement. "Uhm, it's not as big as Russia. The cities are heavy with their own authentic and traditional feel. The feeling and style cannot be duplicated anywhere else—it's authentic, and I appreciate it that way."

Ivan nuzzled him and he felt a tremor run through the smaller man's body. "What are the cities like then?"

"That's enough." Liet laughed and wiggled away. "You ask me to give you Lithuanian lessons, and here you are, distracting me with this sort of talk."

Ivan stuck his chin up in mock-defiance. "It's always about work with you, Liet."

Apologetic, Liet nudged against him again. "Ivan, it takes dedication to learn a language."

Ivan plopped his chin down on his shoulder. "Tell me a story, first. Please?" He breathed in his ear. "Then I can work, I promise."

The Lithuanian sighed in exasperation and gave in with the gentle pushing, leaning back into him. "You're not a child, but if it's a story you want… What kind of story then?"

His mouth curved into a soft grin. "You say I should take pride in the things that make up who I am. Isn't that right?"

Liet nodded. "I don't take it back."

"Tell me what you're proud of, then." Him arms found there way around his middle. "Who are you?"

Liet stared at him from beneath his lashes. "That's a silly question—you already know who I am."

He held him tighter, as if he could draw knowledge from embracing him alone. "All I see is a man who helps me, but puts too much on his own shoulders. That's not enough for me, Liet."

He stared down at him and they locked gazes, violet reflecting off green pools.

"What did you want to know?" He asked quietly.

Ivan closed his eyes slowly and leaned down slightly, speaking in equally soft tones. "I'm not trying to pry… But I want to know something, anything."

"I didn't think you were." Liet sighed and slid down until his head rested in the Russian's lap. "Just let me know when you get bored. The last thing I want to do is spur your disinterest in what I have to say when we still have several pages to go over." He nodded to the textbook that lay momentarily forgotten on the table.

"You've listened to me. I want to listen to you." Something inside of his core shivered as he spoke those words—even his own honesty made him feel uncomfortable.

He opened his eyes again and Liet looked away, staring at the lamp thoughtfully. "I was born in a small town—I forgot the name, but we moved to Kaunas where I grew up. I was the older of my two other brothers. They were both much, much younger than me."

Ivan stiffened and placed his hands over both of his shoulders as if in warning. "Don't. You don't have to tell me about that."

"It's all right." He reached up and touched the side of the Russian's face. "I'm not bound down by it. I know they're not here anymore, Ivan, but the dead can no longer bother me. I'm not afraid—I'm not afraid of the fact that they're gone."

His brows furrowed together as he frowned down at him. "But don't you love them?"

"Of course I do. I miss them." A gentle sadness crossed those orbs as he continued, "But love isn't supposed to inspire fear."

"But it can come from it," he argued.

"That's different, Ivan. You feared for Yekaterina's life, but you're not afraid of her, are you?"

He stared off to the side, looking distracted. "She would be the last person I would be afraid of."

A small smile graced his lips. "Then you understand, don't you? I'm not afraid of them—they were family—and I don't have to fear _for_ them either… As young as they were, I knew they wouldn't want me to live the rest of my days in pain and remorse."

"I envy you, Liet…" He murmured. "How can you say that so easily? How can you speak so lightly about things like this?" He sighed heavily, feeling something strange weigh down his core. "I wanted to know more about you because you always so curious and confounding in my eyes. You're barely human to me, Liet, but I thought things would grow clearer if only I…" He trailed off when a thumb was pressed to his bottom lip.

"…I know you didn't want to hear about death and dying. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

Ivan wrapped his arms over his torso, pressing his back close to his own chest. His body was warm, helping suppress the shivers that were brought along with the night. "Don't apologize…" He whispered into his ear, even when there was no one around to eavesdrop on them. "I was the one who asked."

"There's nothing wrong with asking," he replied. "And I promised you something." He fell silent and gazed off into the distance, deep in thought. "At first, my family was poor until we had enough money to move into the city. I don't remember my early days, but I remember a constant feeling of isolation and… claustrophobia, yes? I think at an early age, I realized that that many people were not meant to live together in a single house.

"Mmh… financially-wise, the city wasn't much better. I was born before the Soviet Union fell and times were hard for everyone for years after that. The three of us were born within those years, me in a strange town, and the two others in Kaunas."

Ivan rested hand on either side of the other's head, gently supporting him. "Were you close?"

Liet tilted his head up at him, looking at him questioningly. "What would you consider as 'close'? I suppose we were, but I was the odd one out." He smiled humorlessly. "I can't guarantee it was true, but it was always a feeling I had. There was something about me. We were close I guess, but different."

Liet pushed himself up when Ivan didn't say anything. "Is there something wrong?"

He shook his head, scooting back to the edge of the table. It was difficult to comprehend seeing the relationship he had with his own sisters, but he knew it was certainly possible. "I think… I think I understand. It's just different from what I've been through."

"Yeah…" he nodded and sighed.

"How..." Ivan bowed his head sheepishly, his words coming out in a merged stream until he coughed and tried again. "What... happened to them?"

"An accident," Liet answered him quietly. Ivan gazed back at him in apology, but the other wasn't focusing on him. It was as if he were recalling the memories of several years ago. "A driver under the influence... he struck them both and they died instantly."

Ivan didn't know what else he could expect, but he immediately regretted asking the question. "I-I see..." He started to feel a bit sick to the stomach.

Liet flashed a smile at him, seemingly unconcerned. "It wasn't much of a story, I'm sorry... But I think we spent enough time on this sort of thing."

Ivan frowned, wanting to point out that it had only been a couple minutes, but he thought better of it. Perhaps this was his way of ending a certain topic.

"I'm sorry…"

Liet looked up at him and tilted his head as if he were contemplating what to say back to him.

"_As nesuprantu,_" he replied, sounding sly.

Ivan blinked, obviously stumped at the sudden change in language. "W-what?"

"_Kaip lietuviskai pasakyti 'sorry'?_"

Ivan groaned when he quickly realized what he was suggesting to him. "That's not fair, Liet! We've only just started this week."

Liet grinned and nudged him. Ivan grabbed the book and looked up the phrases to the best of his ability in the back of it.

"Ah.. Uhm… Pra-Prasow?"

"_Prasau_," he corrected gently. "You almost had it."

Ivan sighed and flipped the pages back to the beginning chapter. "Too bad I cannot torment you with Russian, yes? Yours is already too good. This is definitely not fair, Liet."

"I worked hard to learn so I could study here, and that's why I'm teaching you, Ivan. You should work hard too," Liet advised him, taking the book from his hands. He skipped a few pages. "We'll go over the greetings since that's only logical, right? _Labas, Ivan_." He offered the book back to him.

Ivan scrunched his brows and searched the pages for the desired phrase. "_L-labas… Kaip sekasi?_"

Liet smiled pleasantly, as if they were in a actual conversation, performing a real greeting. "_Aciu, gerai,_" he said slowly, pronouncing the syllabus clearly. "_O Jums?_"

_And you?_

"_Aciu, gerai,_" he echoed Liet, unsure of how to devise and original response. He looked uncertainly at his teacher who only nodded encouragingly. Ivan gave him a timid smile graced his lips and Liet returned it kindly.

"Can you recite the other greetings?"

"Ah yes," Ivan said eagerly. He looked up, his face submerged in deep thought. "Good morning is _labas rytas… Laba diena_ is good afternoon, right? Good evening is _labas vakaras._" He frowned and looked back down at the book. "… I forgot the one for good night."

"That one is a little different, Ivan, so it's a little harder. It's _labanakt_ or _labos nakties_. Can you remember that?"

Ivan repeated after him under his breath. "I think so."

Liet flashed him another smile. "The work won't be easy, but I still think you're a fast learner." He took out a sheet of paper and pencil, placing them before Ivan. " We'll skip to the exercises then."

Ivan felt childish when he found himself grow warm with Liet's praise. Trembling, the pencil fumbled from his grasp after he moved to take it up. Ivan quickly grabbed it, growing hot in embarrassment. He spared a look towards Liet, who didn't seem to notice his minor blunder as he flipped through pages, searching for something.

Pointing into the book, Liet spoke to him and Ivan nodded, pressing the pencil to the paper.

**-x-X-x-**

He woke up to the subtle scent of flowers, feeling a heavy weight on his arms. He cracked his eyes open, feeling grateful for the thin curtains that filtered out most of the blinding sunlight. Rubbing his eyes with his free hand, he turned his head to see who was anchoring him down to the bed.

Brown hair splayed across most of his arm, a warm forehead pressed to the dry skin. Beside him was a vase filled with fresh daffodils, their yellow mouths facing in every direction. The brunette's hand was enclosed over his, and the other covered a bandage that resulted from an absent needle. He no longer needed the feed—Toris was bringing him food again.

But Toris was sleeping, and from his awkward position, Ivan figured he must've passed out unexpectedly. Curling up, Ivan drew closer to his face without disturbing him. With careful fingers, he brushed the dark locks behind his ear, enabling him to actually observe him without scrutiny. Soft eyelids covered those viridian rings and his lips were parted slightly, showing the edges of white teeth. Shifting closer, Ivan's nose was inches from his.

_He's not him_.

Ivan lifted his free hand and placed it over Toris's head, his silky hair a soft cushion beneath his palm. Slowly and cautiously, he began to stroke him there—Toris did not wake up.

With his voice below a whisper, he asked, "You can be foolish sometimes, Toris. It's not safe to sleep here."

His lids fell half-way, eyes glazing over like wet marbles. "…Do you trust me?"

_You're like him, then. Just like him._

Five pale fingers buried themselves through his hair, traveling along the warm scalp. A question he had always asked himself ever since the day he met Toris resurfaced, rising from his throat. "Why… Why are you the only one that treats me like human?"

He received no response, no movement.

"You do trust me, _da_?"

_I know it's only fair if I trust you in return, but Toris… I think you had it all along._

"There was a person who treated me like human as well…"

_He had the same eyes as you._

"He told me the same things as you."

He curled tighter within himself, touching noses with the unconscious man. Ivan moved his fingers to rest on Toris's lips, his touch faint and barely there. The skin was moist and smooth, something far different from his own cracked and scabbed lips. His breath came out in hot puffs, brushing over his split nails as they barely made a sound.

"H-He was the only one who could love me." His voice was starting to waver and he clenched his eyes in shame, even when Toris wasn't even awake to listen to him. "And I loved him, Toris. I loved him very much."

_That's my secret_.

His arm slid over his shoulder and across his back in a gentle embrace. Toris murmured something faintly but leaned into his hold, still resting peacefully. Ivan's lip shook and he buried his face into his hair, taking in that subtle scent.

_You're too trusting, Toris_, _and I wonder…_

_I wonder if you can continue to trust me, if you could ever trust me, if you knew. _

"I don't want you to know."

Before he knew it, he was tightening his embrace, holding onto Toris as if he were hanging on to lucidity.

_I killed him._

"He haunts me and he won't leave me _alone…_" He shut his eyes and even though they burned, no tears fell except for the ones he felt in his heart. "I'm afraid…" He nearly cried out at the cruel irony of it all. "I'm afraid of him, even when he told me I wasn't supposed to be afraid of the ones I love."

_Then why do I fear him. Why?_

"It's okay…"

Ivan meant to pull back, but another pair of arms kept him from doing so. The man resting in his embrace stirred and slowly looked up at him, his eyes still glazed from sleep. "It's okay to be afraid sometimes," he whispered.

Ivan bit his lip and shook his head. "He hates me, Toris, he _hates _me and I'm sure of it—it's my fault."

Toris slid his arms from under his, reaching up to tenderly grasp his clammy cheeks. "Do you still see him?"

With trembling hands, he reached up to grasp the other's, his depths plagued by fear. "In dreams. He never hurts me. He makes me feel safe, he makes me _remember_." His voice shook violently. "B-but it hurts so much when I wake up. I c-can't anymore… I can't stand it!"

A look of empathy flashed across his face as he spoke. "Shh… He's not here anymore. You'll be alright, Ivan, he can't hurt you here."

Ivan grimaced, whispering harshly, "I don't know what he's doing to me." He gave in and allowed Toris to hold him as he spoke into the other's shoulder. "I loved him, Toris… I haven't suffered enough for him, a-and now he wants me t-to…"

"No," Toris said firmly, "He's not here to hurt you, Ivan. You can't give him any power over you."

Ivan hid his face away from the light, digging his fingers into the Lithuanian's back as he tightly held on to him.

_You told me love wasn't supposed to inspire fear, so then why do you continue to do this to me?_

"What am I supposed to do?" He asked faintly. "I…"

_I can't tell—_

_I can't tell or else Toris will hate me too._

_Just like them_.

His needs won over his fear and he reached out with his words that were barely above a murmur. "Could you ever hate me?"

Toris suddenly pulled away and grasped both of his hands in a steady hold. "Why?" His lips parted to shape the word as he caught his gaze and held it there, staring intently into him, searching. "Why would you ask something like that?"

Ivan bit his chapped lip until it bled. "I wanted to tell Toris something…"

Toris frowned and dabbed at the bead of blood that formed above the crack. He took a small object from the end table, opening it up to reveal a minty-smelling ointment. He dabbed his finger into it and smeared the wax on Ivan's lips without concern. "You can tell me, I'll listen."

He looked away and rubbed his lips together, the ointment burning yet soothing to the surface of his skin. "I… I don't know what to do."

Toris put the object away and rested his hands on his lap. He tilted his head, worry crossing his face and wrinkling his brows. "I'm here, Ivan. Please, don't hold it in like that."

Ivan shuffled back into the bed, drawing his legs up to his chest in an upright fetal-position. Resting his chin upon his knees, he looked downwards, his eyes heavy and oddly defocused. Toris remained where he was, trying his best to stay relaxed while he continued to look at him intently.

Several minutes passed as the two of them remained in a stifling silence. A cloud drifted in front of the sun, effectively dimming the room.

Toris turned his head, quietly observing the sky as another cloud took place before the sun.

"I…"

Ivan was covering his face with his hands when Toris turned to look at him again. A tremor ran over his shoulders and neck as he spoke again.

"I… really did kill him."

-x-X-x-

It was night when Toris left his room. The halls were deserted and no one came up to bother him this time—not even Marcel tried to barge in that day.

Toris had stayed by his side for the entire day, even after Ivan's confession. He knew… he knew about it before that, but somehow, it was even worse when the truth passed through Ivan's own lips.

'_His skin was still so warm when I first touched him, da? I… I took that away as well.'_

Toris held his arms, an uncontrollable shiver running through his body. He gathered up his stuff and made it to the front lobby, signing out with the lady who wished him a good night.

The summer air breathed in his face, blowing his hair back in waves. The parking lot was deserted, save for a few cars.

Shrugging, the Lithuanian walked down the pavement towards the gates so he could call for a ride.

Someone stumbled passed him, dropping whatever he was holding. Toris turned to the man to give him a quick apology before bending down to help him, but he quickly realized who it was.

"Alfred…?"

The blonde blinked at his name, shoving the disarray of papers within a manila folding. "Hey Toris, what are you doing here?" He got up and took a step back, increasing the distance between them.

Toris was quiet from a moment, still taken by surprise by the sudden run in. "…I was going to go home for the night, but I could ask the same about you."

"There was work I needed to get done," he explained hastily, turning around. "I think the both of us should go now. It's already pretty late, isn't it?

He stared after his retreating back in hesitation, wondering if he should go after him. Figuring it was now or never, Toris made his decision and bounded the first few steps, planting a hand on Alfred's shoulder.

"There was something I was meaning to ask you."

**-x-X-x-**

Ivan almost stumbled up the escalators, dodging past people, and having no time to apologize to whoever he bumped into.

He missed the call and he couldn't return it. Katyusha told him everything and he prayed with all his might that he wasn't too late.

He skidded to a stop to catch the gate number flashing on one of the few giant monitors. When he memorized the number, he ran on, trying his best to get there as fast as he could.

To his immense relief and happiness, the person he was looking for was sitting back on one of the many benches, waiting for the plane to arrive.

His running figure must've caught his attention when the brunette looked up from the book he was reading. His mouth fell open slowly, the book falling from his grasp and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Ivan stopped before him, carrying his pack as his chest heaved in labored breaths. He couldn't speak just yet, and Liet was having trouble forming words himself.

"I-I didn't think you'd…" He covered his mouth, his eyes shining brightly.

"Of course…" Liet stood up and Ivan opened his arms. The smaller man shook his head as if he were in some sort of denial, launching himself towards Ivan and hugging his middle tightly.

"It… It was just a small hope I had. I didn't think the organization would let you go so easily. I wanted to ask, but I turned shy, so I asked Yekaterina to suggest the idea to you." He tightened his embrace and Ivan was amazed at the strength he displayed, quickly finding it hard to breath. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you in person."

Ivan rummaged around in the nearest pocket of his bag, pulling out the precious ticket that he received in the mail. "It's okay, you still sent this to me, yes? I have you to thank."

Liet let go to look at the ticket that was flashed in his face. Ivan exhaled deeply, feeling his ribs crack a little in the process.

"I-It was only a suggestion, Ivan. You really don't have to if it causes you inconvenience—"

"I want to go to Lithuania with you," Ivan said softly, but loud enough to be heard over the droning of the airport. Liet seemed equally touched and surprised by this, a subtle color creeping into his cheeks.

"But… Your family… I don't want to steal you away."

Ivan shook his head. "Yekaterina suggested I go. She likes you, Liet," he smiled, "She said I needed something like this, yes? I'm sure she told you the same thing when you came to see her."

Liet cast his gaze elsewhere, smiling to himself faintly. "I'm afraid I don't remember."

Ivan gave him a peck on the head and held him again. "Don't lie. I know what my own sister would say."

"…It doesn't have to be permanent," he suddenly told him, looking up again. "It can just be for a little while. It'll be like a vacation."

"A wonderful vacation then, yes?" Ivan tapped him on the nose and Liet blinked, focusing on his fingertip. "We'll see about that. Katyusha said it might be necessary for my healing, moving to a different country—she may be right. I think I'll be staying a little longer than a vacation, Liet."

Liet released a content sigh, collapsing against his broad chest and staring out the windows at the endless August sky. "I might like that…"

Ivan laughed and Liet could hear the booming waves deep within his chest. "You're not sure?"

The Lithuanian chuckled with him, swaying back and forth as he grasped onto him tightly. "Just a little bit," he admitted light-heartedly. "You'll be homesick after the first two months, Ivan. I'm sure of it."

"Ah, have some faith in me. I've been away from home many times, remember?"

"Of course I do…"

He pecked him again. "I'm afraid you'll have to deal with me a lot longer than that then." He smiled down at him. "I won't leave you, Liet."

A muffle came from the brunette and Ivan leaned down to listen to him more clearly.

"Then… I won't leave you either, Ivan… Never."

**- - x – X – x - -**

_As nesuprantu- I don't understand._  
_Kaip lietuviskai pasakyti 'sorry'?- How do you say 'sorry' in Lithuanian?_  
_The conversation afterwards is just a brief exchange of greetings. If you've taken a language class, you know what I mean xD "Hello, how are you?" "Good, thank you. And you?" "Good, thank you." "See you later." Not word for word but you know what I mean haha. _

_Well now we know who taught Ivan Lithuanian :') you didn't think he learned it by magic did you? Please don't make me explain this one by the way |D._

_Ahh, Ivan and Liet remind me of those teenagers you see in those teenage beach dramas. Some of you like the attention I'm giving the back story, but I'm sure some of you think I'm neglecting Toris. Don't forget, he's the main character here, but they're all very very important. Me? I'm just trying to get in the character development I've been planning (I'm actually falling behind, opposite of what I was expecting derp. I thought I would run out of material by the time I got to the climax). _

_I'm sure most of you noticed, but I'll point this out anyway, Lamentia is definitely going to be longer than The Cat's Cradle. I have five more chapters planned for this story, but that can easily go up with the pace I'm going with now haha._

_School is a pain in the butt :c I barely have enough time to play my new pokemons –sob- And I have an entire newspaper to write orz. Wish me ruck everyonee~_


	10. Warmth

_**Author: **__Kaisre  
__**Rating: **__T  
__**Summary: **__Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **__Lithuania // Toris, Russia // Ivan, America // Alfred  
_

_

* * *

_

_**- Lamentia -**_

**-X-**

* * *

"There was something I was meaning to ask you."

The man in front of him straightened his back and turned to face him properly. Under the pale moonlight and dim lamplight of the lot, his skin was pale as it lacked the healthy color the American normally sported. His usually kind eyes reminded Toris of frigid glaciers, rather than a boundless and limitless sky.

"You can tell me on the way to my car," Alfred suggested. "It's dark. Being near this place is worse enough."

Toris nodded and followed the other out into the parking lot. He shoved both hands into the front pockets of his coat, breathing in the pleasantly crisp air of the summer night.

They walked a short distance in comfortable silence as Toris tried to properly reword the question that lingered in his head—the question that hindered his thoughts ever since the seed of suspicion was planted.

"There was something I needed to ask you too."

Toris looked over at him, curious. "What is it?"

Alfred noticeably avoided his gaze, looking off elsewhere in distraction. He took his hand out of his pocket, picking the lint from underneath his fingernails. "Well… How do I say this?" He frowned and sighed, flicking a fuzz ball away in irritation. "Actually, never mind. I think I should just ask you later. So… What's been bothering you?"

The American's red Chevrolet stood out from the rest of the dreary cars that still remained at this time of night. Faithfully waiting in its usual parking spot, the car's lights flashed and beeped before Alfred re-pocketed his remote.

"It's about Sunday night," Toris briefly explained, still unsure about how he should start.

Alfred chewed his lip, looking a tad confused. "Have you been seeing things again, Toris? If you have, then I think—"

He quickly shook his head, trying to dispel the recurring image of a hanging silhouette in his mind. "No, but… I wanted to know why you were really there that night."

Alfred tilted his head, seemingly confused and clueless about where he was getting at. "Uhm, I told you, didn't I? I was covering a shift for a friend. Not sure what was exactly wrong but—"

Toris turned his face away, biting his lip in agitation. "I've had enough of that Alfred." He looked back up at him, trying his best to hold his gaze steady, though it proved harder than it seemed. "Everything you told me back then was a lie, wasn't it? You told me I was different from what you've seen, that I was the only one."

Alfred seemed lost for words when his mouth fell open. Toris felt his resolve waver for a moment but he mentally shook himself, holding steady. "There was no 'friend', was there? You always told me no one trusted you—that _I_ was the only who really trusted you, and you took advantage of that."

Alfred held his hands up defensively. "Okay you got me there, I wasn't really covering for anyone. I lied, Toris, I admit it, and I'm sorry."

Toris didn't know where to look as he tried to retain his composure. He could no longer look Alfred in the eye as easily and naturally as he could before. His fists opened and closed, straining his knuckles as his nails left red, crescent-shaped lines in his palms. He couldn't back out now—he couldn't just look the other way and try to convince himself that he was wrong. He couldn't ignore it anymore and say that things were perfectly fine, that there was nothing wrong.

Why did he have to do this? Why did it even have to be like this? He hated the feeling of being the only one lied to. It made him feel… isolated, alone. There was something everyone—including Alfred, especially Alfred, knew about. Everyone except him.

"I said I had enough," Toris repeated, his eyes and hands closing into tight fists as his depths were filled with hurt and confusion instead of the angry resolve he aimed for. "I can't believe anything you say now. What you said about me, what you did while you were gone, your _identity—_those were all lies too."

Alfred fidgeted uncomfortably, his back pressed to the door of his Chevy. "I know it was wrong of me to lie about that, but I don't know what you're getting at, Toris. My identity? What are you saying? My name's Alfred Jones—you know that. I'm a psychologist and therapist in training—just like you."

"No, you're not."

"What?" Alfred stammered, "Of course I am—!"

"You're not really a psychologist are you?" Toris said quietly but clearly. He inhaled deeply as he tried to calm his pounding heart. He said it—he really said it. There was no turning back now, and for a moment, he really did forget where he was going. "Not even close to being one." Even as he doubted himself, he could see the pieces of the puzzle slowly fall down into place within his mind's eye.

Alfred, however, didn't seem to share in his newly-found lucidity. "Hey, what are you talking about? Of course I am." He laughed nervously, staring off to the side as if he were trying to find an easy way out of the conversation. "Isn't that why I'm here? I've worked with patients, I've helped them. I'm not that much different from you."

"We're not the same." Toris's heart lurched painfully as he said so, knowing his words carried a heavier blow than they where meant for. "I never lied to you like this." He took a step closer, drawing in the initiative. "Tell me I'm the liar, Alfred."

"Hey, none of us are, okay?" He ran his fingers through his hair, the wheat strands flipping under the digits. "It's late, the both of us are stressed. Can't we wait till tomorrow for this, Toris? I know you must still be pretty upset and I understand and all, but you're probably not thinking right at the moment."

"I don't need any excuses made for myself," he said flatly, knowing Alfred wouldn't budge unless he took another step forward. Even then, he had hoped that Alfred wouldn't be that difficult—going against his only friend here was more painful than he expected. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking about how easy it would be if he took the blame and admitted he was wrong, like he always did.

In his distrust, it seemed to him that everything that came out of Alfred's mouth was nothing more than a lie—that they had always been lies, ever since the day they met.

Maybe it was true that he never fully realized it at first, but his own unconscious saw through the guiles. Maybe that explained the discomfort he developed recently every time he spoke to the American.

If what he suspected was true, then…

Perhaps he really was alone all along.

"I saw the papers. I saw the note." His head turned from side to side, a mixture of hurt and confusion crossing his features. "Why did you hide this?"

Alfred visibly stiffened, but before he could step away, Toris reached forward and opened his coat, revealing a gold-plated badge molded into the same seal he found on the paper. The eyes of the rampant eagle seemed to flash under the lamp lights, glaring at him accusingly.

They stood there, frozen for a split second. Toris was the first to move when he pulled his hands away, staring up into Alfred's eyes. The surprise left his gaze and those blue irises reminded him of frozen glaciers more than ever.

"How long?" It was barely more than a whisper.

Alfred turned his back to him, staring at his own reflection in the car window instead of Toris's face. "Since forever—before you even got the job."

They locked gazes through the reflection in the window, and Toris swallowed. He was right—he had _wanted_ to be right, but it didn't make him any happier than he was before.

He saw through the other, but he had no power over him either. In fact, it may have been the other way around. Perhaps this was what the blonde was striving for all along. Fists closed in on themselves once again. Why… Why did he ever let him go this far?

What will happen now?

"I never thought… you would be the first to find out." He turned back around again. "I tried with you, I really did. You're not like them, Toris, and I never lied about that."

Toris bit the underside of his lip, taking a step back as if he had just been wounded. "Try with what? I feel like we're back where we started and I can't understand you anymore, Alfred. If I'm right, if everything I thought was right yet all wrong at the same time, then what are you here for?"

Knowing that all his suspicions were true caused the air to thicken. His head grew light and his vision cloudier as a part of him continued to deny Alfred's dishonesty.

Alfred looked up, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. Toris followed his eyes only to see a camera discreetly placed right below the bulbs of the parking lot lights.

"No one was supposed to know," he spoke, more to himself than anyone else. Toris found himself stepping closer again, but he froze in his tracks once those blue eyes rested on him.

"What are you going to do with me then?"

Those bespectacled eyes blinked once, twice. His fingers reached for something at his waist, and Toris visibly stiffened. The hand dropped and rose to cover his face as he sighed deeply.

"My job isn't to get rid of people, Toris. It's…" Arched fingers combed through his hair once again as he leaned back against his car. "Ivan Braginsky," he said abruptly, staring straight at him. "You care about him, don't you?"

He felt taken aback by the question. "What does that—?"

Alfred took him by the shoulders and before he knew it, he was being pressed against the car door himself.

"If you care about that man, you won't tell anyone about this."

_He's… threatening me?_

Toris frowned. "Tell me who I would even bother to talk to."

He could see the other's cheek ripple as he chewed his tongue, surveying the brunette thoroughly. "You seemed upset enough to do it anyway."

"Maybe I would be," he replied, almost satisfied to see that Alfred noticed. "But why would you bring him up like this?"

Alfred let go of him and rubbed his hands together, muttering a quiet apology under his breath. "Oh boy… Where to start?" He put his hands on his waist, leaning back. "There's one thing I am, and two things I'm not. I'm not a psychologist, I'm not a therapist, nor am I honestly aiming to be either of the two. You were right… everything I told you before about my job wasn't true. I was sent here by…"

Footsteps echoed throughout the parking lot as Alfred whirled around, only to find another intern walking to their car without sparing the two a single glance. He opened his door, motioning for Toris to get in.

"I was actually planning to grab a taxi," Toris said uncertainly, pointing over his shoulder towards the gated entrance.

"It isn't safe," Alfred said, nudging him inside as he shot several glances behind him. "I said it wasn't my job to take care or get rid of people. You can trust me on this, Toris, I swear."

"If I ran away, would you chase after me?" He asked, reluctantly settling down in the passenger's seat. "You wouldn't let me go until you explained everything, would you? The feeling's mutual, Alfred. I want to know what's going on."

Alfred climbed into the drivers seat and set his papers aside, waiting for the other car to leave the parking lot before starting up the Chevy. Stepping on the pedal, he drove forward out of the parking space, leaving nothing behind.

"I was sent here from America."

"By your boss?"

He made a turn, nodding slowly as he waited for the gate before them to reopen. "Yes… And no. Do you know the history of this place?"

Toris looked back over his shoulder at the retreating building as Alfred drove on. It seemed to him that the asylum seemed older to him now than it did before. "A friend told me it was closed down not too long ago, right after the end of the Cold War."

Alfred nodded again, urging him on. "That's true, but before that."

"It was an ancient Lithuanian building that the Soviets used as an interrogation facility. Afterwards, they turned it into a psych ward, but he told me the whole thing was found to be corrupt so they closed it down."

"Then fourteen years ago, they reopened it into what it is now, right?"

"I guess so." He looked towards him quizzically. "What are you getting at?"

"They were researching something secret, the Soviets I mean." He grit his teeth together, taking his eyes off the rode for a second to give Toris a meaningful glance. "I'm not supposed to tell anyone this. Everything was supposed to remain a secret but… I need you to help me with it, whatever it is."

Toris lowered his gaze, almost sighing in frustration. "I can't help you when I'm the one who's left out of it."

"That's why I'm telling you everything I know, but I _don't_ know much and that's the problem." He flicked his hand, turning on the left signal. "Cold War-era intelligence claimed the Soviets were resorting to… human… experimentation, or perhaps something along those lines." Growing pale, he went on, "The United States couldn't confirm a thing, however, since the facility was suddenly closed down while its contents and records were destroyed. The conspiracy was forgotten and nobody thought about it for years.

"However, when the facility opened up again, my boss wanted to gather as much research and information as he could, but he knew it would be pretty much impossible since we had no contacts in this country. They tried to find alternative resources, but that wasn't really successful. But over time, we did get one contact… just one, but he was far more important and useful than we expected. He promised to land a hired client, me, a position in the new asylum, and we were allowed to keep any information we would happen to salvage—just as long as we brought the whole facility down and made sure it would never open again. He told us he would send a student of his to the facility over time to make my job easier."

As soon as Alfred finished his last sentence, Toris could hear Gilbert's words echo in his mind.

"…_I think your professor is crazy, sending his best pupil away from the famous medical facilities of Kaunas to tend to the unwanted."_

_"I chose to go at his recommendation."_

"He went by Gedeminas Gordon. He's…"

It clicked.

"…My professor," Toris finished quietly.

Alfred hummed in agreement. "Yeah, that's what I thought. He said you were the one, but I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do with you. I thought of leaving you alone, but things didn't exactly go that way, did they?" He chuckled dryly, making another turn out of the rolling hills. "I spent all my time here trying to gain everyone's trust. I had my eyes on Braginsky ever since I had that talk with him, but when you were assigned as his caretaker, I had to admit I felt disappointed. Well, over time—Toris?"

Toris wasn't paying attention to him or his surroundings. His voice faded in and out as he repeated his name in an attempt to regain his attention.

"_Why do you want to become a therapist, Laurinaitis?"_

"_Well… It's an important job isn't it? I heard there was a shortage of doctors and—"_

"_That doesn't answer my question. I'll ask you again—why do you want to become a therapist? Do you enjoy the work, the pay?"_

"_I… don't know, Professor."_

"_Don't give me that. I put you through three years worth of study and you still have no idea why you're going through all this trouble?"_

"_I just want to help people, Professor."_

"_You might as well carry a wallet full of money and hand it out in the streets with that sort of answer."_

"_No, it's not the same."_

"_How so? That's what I'm trying to get out of you, Laurinaitis."_

"…"

"_Look, I didn't call you to my office to patronize you, Toris. I need to talk to you about something far more important, but I want to know that you have your goals and objective set in mind."_

"…_I think there might be something wrong with me, Professor."_

"_How so?"_

"_Suffering… People's suffering. I notice it so quickly among strangers, even when I don't try. Sometimes it bothers me to the point that I feel as if I can see the distress itself. Sometimes… it's painful."_

"_You don't think it's your average human compassion, do you?"_

"_No. I'm no one special—I'm not a hero, but I see the suffering in people that others often overlook. The mentally unstable ones are the worst victims, the ones who hold everything within themselves. I want to become a therapist so I can help these people, otherwise I feel as if they'll never get enough of what they need."_

"_Do you really think you can help these people you talk of?"_

"_That's what I'm working for. I'm doing my best."_

"_And I don't doubt that, Laurinaitis. I have a career opportunity set aside for you. Have you ever heard of Visailis?"_

"_No, Professor…"_

"_It's an old asylum outside of Kaunas. It has a terrible history of desertions and accidents, but it'll be your best bet if you want to get anywhere with your education."_

"_What am I supposed to do?"_

"_Apply for an intern position. I'll send in a letter of recommendation for you, so your position will be secured. It's certainly not the happiness place on earth, but the facility needs a person like you. If you want to help people, Laurinaitis, then apply for the job. I have a feeling the place will not survive unless there's someone who'll bring in fresh ideas."_

"_I'll try my best, Professor."_

"_I'll send you all the information and forms that you'll need. I'm sure you'll be successful with this. Good luck."_

He remembered turning around and leaving his office, feeling as if his professor wanted to tell him one more thing.

"Hey, Toris… I'm not carrying you to your apartment if you fell asleep."

At the mention of sleep, Toris's eyes watered as he stifled a yawn. "I'm sorry, I spaced out for a minute there. So Gordon sent you here?"

"Pretty much. Thanks to him, I got the job."

"And you got everyone to trust you?"

Alfred was silent for a moment before he answered, "I was close. No one liked me at all, and I can't say none of them didn't suspect me of some sort of plot, but I was able to avoid trouble… For the most part."

"What do you mean?"

"I almost lost my job after Sunday night. Lanka wasn't the least bit happy with me, and she was seriously planning to kick me out. But… For some reason, she changed her mind at the last minute."

"But it was only one time… Isn't getting fired a bit harsh?"

Alfred laughed, startling him. "I've snuck around at night several times, but Sunday was the only time I got caught—it really cost me. To tell you the truth, the security was pretty low for a criminal ward, so I never had a problem sneaking around."

"But… You got caught because…" He looked over at him for some sort of hint, but the other was avoiding his gaze. Toris's heart lurched. "Because of me."

Alfred continued to avoid looking at him as they drove down a long stretch of road that was absent of any buildings. "What makes you think that?"

"You were the one who found me last night. Only you were around when I fainted, so it was easy for you to make up a story. You even said it yourself! That I was lucky you were the only one who found me. Alfred…"

_I can't believe it._

_You jeopardized everything just for…_

"Why… Why did you do that?"

Alfred was no longer smiling as he replied grimly, "I asked myself the same thing but… I knew why all along."

"Then…?"

"I didn't lie when I said I saw a piece of myself in you. I didn't come here for the information, Toris. I couldn't care less about it—it's my boss that wants all the records. No… I wanted to do something, anything, to achieve justice. After being briefed about the place, I knew I would never be happy to stand around and do nothing. After your professor told me that he was afraid that the facility was reopened solely for the purpose of excavating the old research of the Soviets, I knew what I needed to do."

"And Gordon sent me here so I could stop the facility from going too far. I think… I think he knew what he was doing."

"Sometimes I doubt that," Alfred laughed humorlessly. "After what I've been through… But I haven't given up yet."

"Alfred… If you succeed in bringing the asylum down and shedding light on the research, Ivan will be free, won't he?"

"He's a murderer, Toris. They won't let him walk free just like that. He'll be sent to a different facility I bet, but anywhere would probably be better than Visailis."

"I suppose that's true," he murmured, staring out his window. They were nearing the town now. "But I think I want justice just like you. The way those people treat him, I can't stand it. I want to help, Alfred. I want to help him."

"I need your help." He breathed deeply. "And he needs it too, more than anyone. I think we have a deal, don't we, Toris?"

The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself as he wondered if he was just setting himself up all over again. "I suppose we do."

"Then can I take you to my place? There's… There's something I want to show you."

Toris frowned looking back at him, looking up at the pitch-black sky through the window. "Tonight? How long… never mind." He shook his head, reminding himself that there was in fact a hope for Ivan. He didn't have to be locked up in that place forever. Staying up a little longer than usual was a small price to pay.

"It might take a while," Alfred answered his unfinished question. "But I'll let you get your sleep too, don't worry. I would rather wait till tomorrow's break, but I guess it'll be better if I show you as soon as possible." He made a turn into an unfamiliar neighborhood that lay positioned on the other side of town, miles away from his own apartment.

While driving down another long stretch of road, Toris couldn't help but notice how well-trimmed and empty the landscaping was, though the scenery had a depressing air about it when there was no one out there to walk the sidewalks during this time of night.

Alfred turned the wheel to the right and quickly pulled into an empty parking lot surrounded by an old apartment building. He got out, taking his papers with him as he waited for Toris before locking the car up. "It's a little run down, but my boss got me one of the better rooms. There aren't many tenants here, so I have no neighbors, which is perfect for… you know."

Toris tripped over a stray branch of a thorny bush before he followed the American up two flights of stairs to the third floor. Standing back, he waited as Alfred pulled out a mess of keys and opened the door to the room on the far end of the floor.

"My boss pays for rent and all that good stuff, so I don't go insane living in a place like this. Hey, you hungry? Thirsty?"

"Oh uhm, no thank you." He folded his arms behind his back, standing there awkwardly until Alfred motioned towards a small table.

"Most of the stuff is in here." He held up the folders he had brought with him from the facility. "But I picked up some other things while on the job." He laid the folder down on the table in front of Toris before disappearing in another room.

Toris took a seat after he left, pulling the folder close to him to sneak a look. Inside were several envelopes that were meant for photographs. Some of the labels were distorted from a spilled liquid, but the single date he managed to make out was over a year old. Taking it out, he placed his thumb over the flap to pull it open, but a voice stopped him.

"Don't open that up if you have a weak stomach."

His eyebrows furrowed questioningly as he looked up at him. "Why not? Is it really that bad?"

Alfred shrugged as he took a seat on the opposite side of the breakfast table. "Nothing is censored when it comes to crime scene photos, just sayin'."

Toris stared down at the fat envelope in his hands, more curious than before. "So that's what this is… What about the others?" He nodded to the remaining envelopes.

"Same stuff, but before we look at anything, I have a question for you—the same one I was meaning to ask you later, as in tomorrow or something."

"Oh, okay… What is it?"

Alfred leaned forward, his elbows propped on top of the table. "Did you know Ivan before you even applied at Visailis?"

Toris shook his head. "No? The day I met him as an intern was the day I first found out about him. Everything I started with, I got from you."

"So you're not lying then…" He stared at him for a moment as if he were trying to read something that was written on his face. "Never mind—it was a stupid question. I just… I just thought I had a lead there for a moment."

"What are you even talking about?"

Alfred set the packages down, massaging his temples. "At first, after I came back from my trip to Moscow, I thought Ivan was innocent because…" He chewed his tongue.

_He… could be innocent?_

Toris leaned forward, the look in his eyes growing fierce and resolute. "Because?"

Alfred looked distracted when he grabbed the second envelope and pulled out a photo print with a letter scribbled on the back of it. "I got these photos and letters from Ivan's sister who lives in Moscow. Yeah, during that one 'business trip'." He laid the leaf down on the table, picture side up. "The man Ivan killed, he looks just like you."

Afraid of what he might find, Toris bit his lip and took the picture, sliding it towards himself. It was a slightly faded photo—probably bleached from being left out in the sun—of a young couple arm-in-arm. The taller man was definitely Ivan, except the Ivan in the photograph looked much healthier that the Ivan Toris knew at the asylum. His ever-violet eyes were clear and slightly brighter, but their light had no brilliance compared to the green orbs that were just below them. Toris felt something lurch in his stomach when he realized how much Alfred was right.

"What… What is this?"

Brown waves framed the mysterious young man's face in the same way Toris noticed about his own hair every time he looked at himself in the mirror. The smile that graced his lips was faint and barely-there, but the happiness in his eyes made up for what his smile lacked.

The photo shook as he picked it up between his two fingers, holding it up to the light. Toris knew exactly who his own being was, and the strange man in the photo wasn't him, but he could see how anyone could easily be thrown off by the resemblance. Even so, his insides squirmed and he could feel a major headache coming on.

He flipped the photo onto its front, reading the handwritten Russian that was scribbled on the back. Even though he couldn't read a word of it, it was easy to recognize the format of a letter. The letters were carefully inscribed onto the photo paper with ink, and some writing was crammed into the margins. A signature was scribbled into the corner along with several post scripts.

"It's an old letter that Ivan sent home after he moved to Lithuania. His sister let me borrow a few of the things he sent, including several photos."

"Her name is Yekaterina right? The younger one is Natalya—Ivan told me about them. And…" He set the photo back down, staring at the script he couldn't read. "He misses them very much. They haven't even visited him once. Why is that? Did they sever ties with him after he was convicted?" He grimaced, thinking about the possibility and how much Ivan would crumble if he knew. Or perhaps he already did know, and he never told Toris the whole truth.

Alfred let out a low whistle. "You see, this was the part that sort of screwed everything up for me. Toris, remember those papers I gave you on your first day at Visailis? You know, the one with Braginsky's photograph and his list of records?"

"Yes, you won't believe how many times I've read it over and over again. I don't have it with me though."

"Well, I didn't expect you to. Actually… I think I might have a copy. I just grabbed his whole folder in the filing cabinet you see. And then… I have this." He shook a second paper. "Believe me, this was a bitch to get, but I managed."

Alfred pulled out two copies of the same document, sliding them in front of Toris. "Find the difference."

"Oh, well the photos are… different?"

"Well yeah, I guess but… There's something else."

Toris frowned and narrowed his eyes as he scanned the same documents he had read several times over before. The military records were still there. Ivan's conviction was still there. His eyes, weight, height where the same. Both dates on the two papers were the same. His birth date was the same—nothing changed about that.

However, there was something extra added below that on the second paper.

Toris froze, feeling as if something cold was being dripped down his neck.

_DECEASED: 20 June, 2009_

**- x – X – x -**

"Liet, wait for me, _da?_ If you go any further, I'll be lost."

He pushed passed several people on the streets who paid him no mind, walking on to deal with their own daily business. He quickened his pace to catch up with his beloved before he lost sight of him.

"Don't be silly," Liet replied, smiling up at him when he finally caught up by his side. "It's been three years. Don't tell me you don't know the city yet."

Ivan wrinkled his nose, folding his arms to retain the warmth in the cold February air. "Not even," he digressed. "It hasn't been three years, Liet. Not yet."

"But almost."

A gust of wind buffeted the leafless trees, their dark arms swaying in the strong wind. Ivan saw Liet huddle as he felt tiny flecks of water hitting his face. "We should hurry," the other suggested as he ran ahead with a few steps. "It's too cold outside."

"But spring is coming soon, isn't it?" Ivan asked, feeling a special sort of excitement on the inside.

Liet laughed to himself, pressing his hair down as another gust blew over them, howling mournfully. "Spring sounds nice, but I think summer is even better. Do you know why?"

"Ah, because it's warmer of course."

Liet shook his head, rushing along as Ivan hastened to catch up with him again. "Your birthday is in June. That's why."

"I'll be twenty-four."

"I know." Liet gave him another smile with a hint of humor to it. "Because I'm already twenty-four, isn't that right?"

Ivan sighed dramatically in mock exasperation. "It's hard to believe. You're so short." He pat his brown head, gloved fingers getting tangled in the rippling strands.

"Because I'm shorter than you doesn't mean I'm short," he retorted good-naturedly. "Please, let's hurry, and stop messing with my hair, Ivan."

"_Nyet_," he replied cheerfully. "It's already so messy—I'm trying to make it better."

"You're not," he chuckled, rushing ahead again. "Hurry, or we're both going to get sick."

"Ah, fine, fine," he relented, trailing right behind the Lithuanian as the wind continued to swirl and howl into their ears.

After a several minutes of walking through slush and snow, Ivan decided to speak up again.

"I think I'm better, Liet."

"Better?"

"_Da_. I don't see the visions anymore. No fire, no war."

"Is that so?" He leaned his head back, his eyes twinkling. "I'm glad, Ivan. I knew you would get better."

"You did?" Ivan laughed. "Well you're right. The medicine is working, quickly too."

The smile in Liet's eyes seemed to fall a little as the other continued to walk and look ahead of him. "I suppose so…"

Ivan frowned and bounded forward to his side. "You don't like it?"

Liet blinked at him, astonished. "What? No, no… I'm happy you're getting better, Ivan. I really am."

He shook his head. "But that's not the problem, is it?"

The brunette sighed and lowered his gaze, staring at the cement and slush. Ivan put his thumb under his chin, tilting his face back up.

"It's okay if you're angry at me, _lyubimui_."

"I'm not angry," he sighed again. "But let's go home, Ivan."

**- - x – X – x - -**

_Yes, there was a three week gap between this chapter and the last ;u;' I decided to take a mental health week because of state testing and a bombardment of deadlines and due dates. _

_Anyways, this chapter is sort of a set-up stage for the next part of the story. I hope I was able to answer a lot of questions, but create new ones at the same time kekeke._

_I'm also desperate for some RusLiet, but a different sort. Unfortunately, I can't find any multi-chaptered fics with a BAMF Liet or just a strong Liet that plays a major role :( It makes me very sad. I wish other people would write more strong!Liet, y/y? I'm sort of sick of the rape/humiliation/submission you see going on all the time. The kink meme is full of wonderful requests I'd love the see filled, but the only RusLiet requests that are lucky enough to be filled revolve around rape/humiliation, or Russia being an a-hole in general._

_Oh and dear Anon,  
I'm amazed that you happened to catch those two details |D Except the second one was a mistake on my part. I confused two completely different birthdates hahaha. Well, thank you for pointing it out :)_

_Thank you everyone for reading/reviewing :)_


	11. Pursuit of Lies

_**Author: **__Kaisre  
__**Rating: **__T  
__**Summary: **__Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **__Lithuania / Toris, Russia / Ivan, America / Alfred_

_

* * *

_

_**- Lamentia -**_

_**- XI -  
**_

* * *

"Tell me why you're angry…" Ivan pleaded again. "Please," he added.

Liet hung his coat after shaking off the small droplets of water. "But I'm not angry, Ivan. Come on, let's have something warm to drink."

Ivan followed him into the kitchen, unconvinced. "You're angry about something," he said quietly, "and you won't tell me why. I know I need to know."

Liet sighed, taking out a small pot to boil water as he got the herbal bags ready. "I told you I'm not angry, Ivan… but, I'm upset… and it worries me." The stove sparked as he turned the knob back and forth, trying to start a fire.

Concerned, Ivan stepped up to him, growing close. "Tell me what it is. I'll stop, Liet."

"Can you really?" The Lithuanian chewed his lip, shaking his head from side to side. He looked up at him, worried eyes resting on his face. "Your skin is turning pale and gray. You get sick every night, Ivan… I've noticed it, and you've been trying to hide it from me." He rested a thumb on his bottom lip. Slowly, Ivan poked his tongue out and gave it a taste. "Your lips are stiff and cold now—it's like you're dead. You can't go on taking the medicine they're giving you."

He frowned, and Liet's thumb fell from his mouth. "Why not? It's helping me, it really is," he protested, carefully taking the brunette by the shoulders. "I'm getting better, Liet… Don't you want that?"

"I do—I really do." He looked extremely conflicted and Ivan pulled him close to his chest. "But…" He spoke against the front of his shirt. "It's _not_ making you better. I don't know what those people have told you, and I won't ask, but its making you sicker by the day. I can see it, Ivan. Please stop it. We can find another way."

Ivan held him tighter, his heart aching and beating loudly at the single request. Until this very moment, Liet never asked anything like this of him—not once in three years. However, he couldn't understand. Why couldn't Liet see he was doing this for him, and only him? He never cared before everything happened. There was nothing to care about for anyone—his only family was cut out of his life, and he was alone.

He didn't want to be sick anymore.

"I want to be right again for you, Liet," he admitted softly. "I don't care what it does to me, just as long—"

"Don't." The other's fingers clenched onto his clothes in warning. "Don't say that to me ever again." He pulled away and held his face between two of his still-warm hands. Ivan looked away from him, instantly regretting his words, but he felt he needed to make Liet understand.

"But it's true." A look of hurt crossed his face but it soon vanished after appearing. "Please don't deny me like that."

_You'll get sick of me soon enough._

_I can't have it. I can't allow it._

"I can never… You know that." He reached passed him, switching off the stove before the water could even simmer. He lead Ivan into the living room, pulling him down with him as he took the nearest seat. Sitting back tiredly, he grasped his pale hand between both of his. "I don't trust what any of those men say. Don't you remember? They were the ones who backed you into a corner before they cut you off from your only family."

"And they let me leave the country," Ivan argued, frowning. "With you."

Liet shook his head, scooting away so he could face him properly. "That was your choice alone. The organization couldn't imprison you within your mother country. Whether they supported your decision or not didn't matter—you're your own person."

"Then they are not forcing me to do anything, _da_? I don't understand you, Liet."

He shook his head again, still looking conflicted with his inner opinions. "They told you that you were a danger to your family in your current state, didn't they? They knew you couldn't have gone against their recommendation to return to Yekaterina and Natalya." He lowered his gaze, squeezing and weaving their fingers together. "Of course it would have been alright to leave with me."

Ivan tilted his head, observing their twisting fingers with a thoughtful frown. "What are you saying?"

"I think you already know, don't you? The… consequences would be milder if… If things went wrong and something happened to me instead of with your family…"

At first, Ivan didn't understand, but when the meaning of his words finally reached him, he wretched his hands away and grabbed Liet by the elbows.

"Then… all this time…" He said dangerously quiet, his eyes wide with a rising mixture of hurt and anger. "You thought the only reason I came here was to protect my family, and only them alone? You thought I would rather much hurt you, than them?" His voice shook and Ivan struggled to lock their gazes together.

_What do you think I am?_

Surprised with his reaction, Liet quickly tried to amend himself, but Ivan pushed him away, backing up to the opposite end of the sofa. Before the other would reach out to him, he buried his face into his hands, curling forward.

"I know I'm sick." His sentence broke near its end. "I'm _sick_, Liet—but… but I thought y-you…"

"No, that isn't it." Liet carefully took his wrists, prying his hands away from his face. "You're not ill—not to me."

Ivan ground his teeth together until his tongue caught between the bone and bled out. "I know you hate me, yes? I've done nothing for you, Liet—I've given you nothing. Yes, that's it, of course you hate me…" He could almost laugh as he talked to himself. He was always a fool—

"I said that isn't it," Liet repeated, releasing his hands to wrap his arms over his shoulders, holding him tightly as Ivan struggled against him half-heartedly. "I never lied to you. I never saw you as anyone lower or different from myself."

"Just leave…" Ivan said hoarsely even though he couldn't even bear the thought of being alone once again. "Leave and you can be happy. You're right, Liet. No medicine can cause these scars to fade away—it's impossible. You do not have to put up with me."

Liet tangled his fingers into his hair, keeping his grip on him strong. "No one is leaving, and no one will leave. There's nothing about you that I have to put up with, Ivan. I love you, you know that very well."

"When will…" Ivan clenched his eyes, his arms moving against his will to cling onto Liet's front. "When will the time come when I can no longer tell the difference between the past and present? I said leave me be."

"What am I allowed to have, then?" Liet asked patiently, gently rubbing his back with his free hand. "If I can't handle who you are—your past? I love you, Ivan—I'll say it again. I promised you I would never leave you alone."

Ivan stopped fighting against him, allowing himself to slump forward in defeat. "I wouldn't be mad if you did…" He lied.

He leaned back, allowing Ivan to lie against him. "Hush, that's enough from you," he told him gently. "Things will turn out all right. We don't have to hurt ourselves to achieve that."

**-x-X-x-**

Toris set the paper down, thinking it must have been a forgery—a trick.

"Ivan never died," he said needlessly, looking over the altered copy again.

Alfred nodded to the paper he was reading over. "I got that copy from his family who lent me the records the Russian government had sent to them. The copy that you've had before was from Visailis. That's right, Ivan is dead in Russia, but not in Lithuania."

"Then all this time, no one even bothered to confirm his death?"

Alfred shook his head, taking the two papers to file them away. "No, his family was never allowed to visit him even while he was still 'alive'—they couldn't have afforded to anyway. I'm almost sure the Ivan you know is the same Ivan Braginsky recorded here in these files. There are no grave markers reserved for him in any of the gravesites of Lithuania's major cities. After flying to Moscow, I didn't find his burial site there either. His sister told me he was buried in Lithuania, but after checking again, I found nothing.

"Did you tell them he was still alive?"

Alfred looked down, his brow wrinkling. "I told them the information they were given was questionable, but no, I didn't. I told them if they answered my questions truthfully, I could investigate his death."

Toris bit his lip, leaning forward against the edge of the table. "And why didn't you?"

"I… I wanted to, honestly I did, but it would've been dangerous for both me and them. If they believed that their supposedly-dead brother was actually still alive, they would've left the country no matter what to see him. The facility would deny them, of course, and get rid of them if they needed to before they caught the attention of the law. None of us will be able to do a thing for Ivan if any outside parties got involved with Visailis."

Toris twisted his hands together, looking out the window at the pitch black sky. It was late, very late, but he couldn't go home just yet. "So even now, they still believe he's dead? How does anyone benefit from this? I mean, why would they record him as dead when he's alive?"

Alfred shrugged, sitting back and stretching. "Think how easy things would be for them if no one bothered to look for Braginsky. What's the worst thing that can happen to a man who's already dead?"

Toris took a painfully deep breath as he tried to clear his mind. "Is he the only one, or…?"

"I don't know," Alfred answered his unfinished question. "Whatever happens to the rest of the inmates isn't any of my business, but… during my grave searching, I did find one interesting thing. I know one man who's certainly dead." He nodded to the fat folder that still lay in front of Toris. "If you seriously think you can handle it, go on and take a look."

Toris's eyes darted back and forth between the motionless folder and Alfred's intent gaze. Feeling the other's eyes on him, he slowly reached forward, took it, and opened it. The contents, a stack of photos, slid into the palm of his hand. The first photo was laid upside down on the stack. Already having second thoughts, he timidly took the leaf and flipped it over. The second photo poked out from underneath the first.

His hands jerked violently and he dropped the photos on top of the table as if he'd just been burned. He stood up so suddenly with such force that his chair toppled to the ground with a loud clammer. He covered his mouth, his stomach churning threateningly. Like a gruesome street accident, the sight made him sick but he couldn't bring himself to look away from it.

Alfred was speaking to him now, but his voice was nothing more than a low buzz. His eyes took in every detail—every detail of a covered and uncovered body. Limbs were outstretched, sporting countless incisions and bruises—though it was difficult to tell the difference between a vicious bruise and an open gash. There wasn't as much escaped blood as there should have been, but there were prominent streaks of red on the surrounding furniture and walls.

Several photos had the face covered, but two had it unveiled. Those two seemed to have a deeper effect on him as he retched into his hand. The face was mutilated beyond recognition. Shredded muscle and skin meshed together as fragment of bone poked out from under the mess. Underneath all that blood and gore, he could see a thick red line that circled the body's neck like a collar.

Blood pounded and rushed to his head as he swayed on the spot, almost ready to pass out.

_No._

_Ivan, Ivan… What did you do?_

"He died from asphyxiation." His words seemed to snap him out of it and he shook his head, finally tearing his eyes away from the horrible images.

"But all these wounds—"

"Were inflicted after he died." Alfred quickly stacked up the photos, hiding them away from Toris's view. "I didn't think they would affect you this much…"

Toris shook his head. "I'm fine.. I didn't expect it to be so bad either." He swallowed, but it didn't seem to calm his gut. "So this… this is what he did." He swayed again and collapsed back into his seat. Groaning to himself, he buried his face into his hands.

"Toris… What happened, happened. You can't run away from it, but don't let it get to you either."

He swallowed thickly, nodding. "I know." He lifted his head but shook his it again, trying to focus. "I knew why he was imprisoned all along, but I didn't think… I'm an idiot, aren't I?"

"We can stop here…" Alfred suggested uncertainly. "I said I wouldn't keep you for long, and you don't look so good."

"I guess we should…" Toris sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'm sorry Alfred, this isn't anyone's fault. We can continue another night if that's okay."

"Yeah, that seems smart, but, I have to give you one more chance to back out of this. I mean—"

Toris laid a hand on top of his, stopping him in mid-sentence.

"Al, this… this doesn't change anything—I'll try my best to do what I can."

-x-X-x-

Several weeks passed and Toris swore his stress levels were building up by the day as his tolerance grew shorter.

The few inmates the facility happened to have were moved out of the building to be relocated for "renovation". Several staff members were relieved of their positions as the attendance grew shorter. Ivan remained in his room as the facility slowly emptied out, and Toris was allowed to continue his job due to the contract that had been signed before.

Alfred maintained his day-to-day job, but he had no more information for Toris. After their several nights of briefing two weeks earlier, the American avoided making any contact with him except to warn him not to speak of anything he knew or found out.

Every night since then, the face of the green-eyed man seemed to haunt his thoughts—or his dreams if he were lucky enough to catch an ounce of sleep. The thought of blood and death seemed to disturb him any further. Sometimes in the middle of the night, he would wake up, thinking there was a knife buried deep within his chest. He had yet to find himself screaming aloud.

"You look tired, Toris," Ivan observed quietly, shifting in his lap to get a better look at his face.

Toris smiled down at him, flipping through a book he brought in to read. "I can say the same for you. Did you listen to me and get at least eight hours of sleep?"

Ivan wrinkled his nose in good humor. "I am not a child."

"You're not, but it would do wonders for your health."

Ivan scoffed but made no more comment. He turned his head to the side, reading along with Toris as he flipped through the pages. "It seems… I have almost forgotten to read this language, _da_?" he said, his tone quickly turning disconsolate. "It was not easy learning this writing, Toris."

"But you can still read a little bit, can't you?"

"Yes, I can, but the words stumble and break, even in my head. I know I'm losing my touch."

"Let's practice then. Dinner is four hours away, we might as well, right?" Toris suggested, flipping back to the start of the chapter.

Ivan mumbled something before speaking aloud, "What is this about?"

Toris blinked. "Well, the whole thing is about a lot of things. This chapter, or the book?"

"Ah, just tell me what it is."

"It's a collection of old stories—myths and folktales of eastern Europe. I like it because it seems that only the stories from the West seemed to have survived. This is about the only book that I have that contains old Lithuanian tales from pagan times. When most books don't even mention this area, this particular one contains pretty much anything I can dream of."

"It has Russian, yes?"

"Yes, especially Russian."

Ivan seemed to be content with that and he wiggled, making himself comfortable in Toris's lap.

"Toris, do you find comfort in reading children's tales?"

Toris flipped to the front of the book to pick out his favorite chapters. "Mmh… What do you mean?"

Ivan prodded the book, a finger skimming over the separate titles listed on the first page. "What do these things mean to you?"

"Ah… Well, it's hard to put in words. I think they have their own sentimental value to them."

"Do you think they have a certain truth to them as well?"

"With the ones I've read, yes."

"I see…" Ivan lowered his gaze and turned his face away from the book, rolling over to wrap his arms around Toris's middle instead. "If that's what you say."

Toris cleared his throat softly, hesitantly laying a hand on top of Ivan's head. "But I suppose you can't put all your faith in stories alone."

"Mmf…" He buried his large nose into Toris's stomach, laying there for another moment. "I know a story, Toris."

"Oh, well…" Toris shut the book, setting it aside. "Go on."

Ivan breathed deeply, his back sloping in graceful movements. "The story is… still very obscure to me. I've not thought about it in a long time, but… In the cold land, there was a young child of Winter. He was mothered by the sweet Spring, but he had a heart of ice. Unable to love, he was sent to live among mortals. It wasn't long before his ears were snared by the music of a young flute player. Day after day, the child would listen to the kind flute player. Falling deeper and deeper into the trap, the child couldn't bear it anymore and he begged Winter to permit him to love. Winter refused and the child ran to Spring instead. Spring warned him of punishment and danger, but the child was young and foolish—he did not care.

"Spring granted his wish and the child was given a heart. He returned to his flute player and the two were happy together." Ivan sighed and craned his head back, gazing up at him. His hand rose from among the bed sheets, reaching up to touch the side of Toris's face. "They spent one evening together underneath an ash tree. When the flute player finished the last song of the evening, the child said 'I love you'. And then…" Ivan's hand shook as it curved to cup his cheek. "He…"

Toris grasped his hand, holding it steady. "He—?"

There was a heavy knock on the door that startled both of them, almost causing Toris to fall off the bed.

"Who in the world…" Toris scowled as he slowly got up, moving to answer the door. However, before he could take another step, Ivan grabbed the hem of his uniform.

"Don't get it," he whispered, his violet eyes wide with fear. "Don't, Toris. They're here for me."

Toris's expression softened, and he gently combed his fingers through Ivan's hair. "Don't worry… We'll be fine." He flinched when another set of knocks sounded much louder this time. Slowly, he coaxed himself out of Ivan's grip before he walked over to the door, sliding his cardkey through the slot. The door clicked open and Toris was almost thrown backward.

He should've expected Marcel and two other men to step into the room, backing Toris up against the wall.

Toris tried his best to not let the raw intimidation get to him. "I said you weren't welcome here."

Marcel sneered in response. "What does your word mean in any of this? You have no authority over this patient."

Toris had to keep himself from snapping back as he stepped backwards, stationing himself in front of Ivan protectively. "I'm his caretaker. No one takes him out of this room without approval."

Marcel stepped up to him and spat in his face. Toris could feel two very large hands cling onto his sides. "And I do have approval, Intern. Do I have to make it sound official? This patient is to be expelled from this room due to several misdemeanors and serious offense. He'll be relocated somewhere else in the facility."

Toris placed a hand over one of Ivan's clenched fists, keeping it there. "This patient isn't going anywhere."

Marcel jabbed him in the chest roughly, his eyes flaring up with impatience. "You're lucky you still have you're job after more competent men were relieved. Get out of the way, Intern."

Toris gripped the hand tighter. "I said he's not going—!" He wasn't given a chance to finish when Marcel seized him up by the collar, tossing him to the side. Toris grunted when his back hit the drywall. He heard a low growl and from between the slits of his eyes, he saw Ivan rise up, grabbing for Marcel's throat.

"No, Ivan, stop—!"

The two men who've been watching until now made short time grabbing Ivan by the elbows, roughly pulling him away.

Toris rushed forward to try and wretch their painful-looking grips from Ivan's arms. However, he had quickly forgotten about Marcel who roughly grabbed him by his own arm, hissing in his ear. "I'm absolutely sick of you."

Toris forgot his sense of reasoning and elbowed the man in the stomach. He snarled and let go, but the back of the his hand collided with Toris's face. Clutching his nose and mouth, he stumbled back. He could taste the blood between the cracks of his teeth as the warm liquid trickled from his nose. He pulled his hands away, barely registering what just happened.

From between his bloody fingers, he saw how Ivan noticed the damage as well. The bright scarlet amongst the white room seemed to glow in his eyes as he struggled even harder against his captors who seemed to be having an increasingly hard time keeping him in place. Marcel grabbed a fistful of his hair, and with the help of the two other men, dragged Ivan out of the room as he wailed and screamed in anger.

"Toris, Toris—!"

Toris stumbled after them, his movements clumsy as stars pervaded his vision. They slammed the door in his face and Toris's blood-soaked hands slipped messily over the knob as he tried to reopen the locked door.

Glancing at the card slot, he realized that Marcel took his only key with him. Slamming his fists into the door, he fell to his knees, leaving red streaks on the cold steel.

-x-X-x-

"So this is where you've be—holy shit, Toris. You're a mess."

"It's nothing," Toris mumbled, scraping the last of the dried blood off his palms. "It stopped bleeding an hour ago."

Alfred reached out his hand to him and Toris took it, allowing himself to be helped up.

"I was wondering where you were," Alfred said, brushing Toris off.

"They took Ivan." His words were hollow.

"I know, that's when I figured you must've been stuck back here."

"They _took_ Ivan, right under my nose."

"And they beat you up pretty badly."

"And I'm fine," Toris snapped, surprising himself with his own tone. "It's just… this isn't about me, it's about Ivan, and he's gone…"

Alfred didn't seem to be affected by his harsh tone as he carefully led Toris out of the vacant room. "Don't worry—it isn't too late. While the other inmates are being shipped out to bigger asylums, they're planning to keep Braginsky here. How are you feeling?"

Toris sighed heavily, keeping his eyes low. "Much better than before." He rubbed his face again for the countless time, his sleeves having prominent splotches of dried blood on them. Shaking his head, he groaned hopelessly. "Why did they take him, Alfred? They claimed that he did something wrong, but… except during the night, Ivan was always under my supervision—I _know_ he didn't do anything wrong."

"Maybe you're right, but I knew this was going to happen sooner or later. Ivan isn't a human being to them anymore, and they've given themselves several excuses to hate him. I just didn't think Marcel would have the nerve to lock you in there." He nodded to the room behind them. "Especially with the reduced staff and all, who knows what could've happened."

Toris rubbed his arms together, feeling a chill run throughout his body. "I wasn't thinking about what would happen to me. I just wanted to get out and tell Ivan that… That I would come back for him." He coughed and almost fell forward when Alfred gave him a hearty pat on the back.

"Don't worry about him. There's probably only one place they could be holding him, but hey—" He grabbed Toris before he could do something reckless. "You can't see him. I mean—you can't see him right now. They're probably expecting you and this won't—let me finish—end well."

Toris stopped fighting against him, looking around desperately as if searching his surroundings would give him some sort of hint. "Did Lanka allow this?"

"Probably. I guess that's why Marcel wasn't afraid of hurting you since he knew his own position was more secure than yours. You're not going to talk about this to her, are you?"

"What would I get out of that? No, like you said, I don't want to draw anymore attention. I'm fine now, but I don't know what to say about Ivan… Can you take me to him tomorrow?" He asked, looking up at Alfred hopefully.

"Give me…" He held up three fingers. "Give me three days and I'll help you, Toris. Promise."

"Why three—?"

"I need time to plan things out so you won't get in trouble."

Toris didn't seem to be convinced, but Alfred patted him again.

"Trust me. Just give me three days—it'll be all we need."

**- - x - X - x - -**

_Yess, I made it. Hurray for mildly (or not so much) obscure metaphors and references. Sometimes I wonder how could I've survived one chapter a week with all this stuff going on. x_x Write, draw, write, draw, my life right there /sob._

_ I believe there are five chapters left, but the number can easily change. _

_We've been making steady progress, guys :) Thank you for sticking with me and reading/reviewing!_


	12. Pursuit of Ruin

_**Author: **__Kaisre  
__**Rating: **__T  
__**Summary: **__Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **__Lithuania / Toris, Russia / Ivan,_

_

* * *

_

_**- Lamentia -**_

**_- XII -_**

* * *

-x-X-x-

"_The day your life ended was the day I realized I could never be right again."_

-x-X-x-

He didn't want to believe the roof of his world was crumbling before his very eyes, but he couldn't turn his attention away from it now that it was happening right under his nose.

He never left his side through the stormy days, but he did nothing more than always watch as the life he built slowly deteriorated in front of him. As the days grew longer and darker, his time seemed to grow slower, and his gentle smile never reached those green eyes ever again.

Liet would leave during the day for his work. His next trip wasn't scheduled until the summer of next year, so he spent most of his time at home with Ivan.

When Ivan knew he couldn't ignore or deny it anymore, words of comfort left his head before he was given any chance to convey them to Liet. Instead, they'd sit together somewhere, whether it be in the living room or the bed, and he'd tightly grasp his hand as if he could channel though their touch all the worry and pain he felt for the other.

For once, Liet was either oblivious to his efforts, or he was too deeply submerged within his own pain and doleful thinking to realize Ivan's. Often times, the Russian would find him staring off into the distance lifelessly, only to have a fraction of his former light return to his eyes when he called out to him.

Liet would tell him that everything was going to be all right during the few times he did react to the concern. The corners of his mouth would draw another inch towards his eyes, but they would never go any further than that. Unconvinced by his words, Ivan would remain by his side, silent and watching for any sign—a clue.

His beloved's emotional state worsened as time trickled by like sand leaking from between his fingers. He wanted nothing more than to piece him back together, but it was like as if he had no pieces within his grasp to begin with. He had nothing, and it seemed that the hold he had on Liet diminished with his health.

Despite his dismal state, Liet never shed a tear in front of him if he could help it. However, during the night, if Ivan was kept awake by his paranoia, he would turn on his side to face Liet whose shoulders would be scrunched up and his brow, wrinkled. His normally smooth and gentle face would be coated in a cold moisture as an occasional teardrop would drip from the cracks of his rolling eyes. Every time Ivan caught a tear, he would kiss it away and a quiet sigh would ease from Liet's lungs.

In the mornings, Liet was no longer the first to rise. Ivan would stay in bed with him, encircling him with broad arms to shield him from the morning cold. The Lithuanian seemed to find a bit of solace in his embraces, but it was never anything more than that—and it hurt Ivan to know he couldn't do anything more. His murmurs and his touch weren't strong enough remedies to cure the unconscious tears. He'd give anything in the world to know the source of Liet's languish and destroy it… even if it were himself.

Watching his silent suffering carved deep canyons into his heart. Every time his own eyes rested on Liet's listless state, his heart would jerk in a sort of self-inflicted guilt, remorse, and feeling of helplessness. The roof of his world was definitely crumbling too quickly for his bare hands to fix—he absolutely hated it. Whether he hated himself for always being so dependent, yet useless, or Liet for being so unwilling to save himself, he didn't even know anymore.

-x-X-x-

His pillars have crumbled away, allowing the sky to fall upon him in a mess of shattered hopes and false fairytales. There was no ground to support him beneath his feet and he fell—falling deeper and deeper, surrounded by the fragments of his life he worked so hard to build and care for.

Teardrops stung his face as if they were eager to punish him as thunder roared accusingly at him overhead. His held the limp body close to his chest as he ran down the flooded streets, his legs soaked to the knees in grimy water from running through puddles. Even the fierce downpour of rain failed to wash away the trail of blood he left in his wake.

"Help!" He screamed, his voice tearing cuts into his throat. "Somebody help! P-please!"

A street lamp fizzled out as he ran past it. No one returned his calls for help, and Ivan continued to run in the direction of his home—the home he and Liet lived in together,

_Together._

_Are we together now?_

His knees buckled with every step his took and it wasn't long before he fell down against the hard concrete, lifting the body in his arms to prevent any further harm from coming to it. He felt something shatter in his leg, but he forced himself back to his feet.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he stumbled onto their porch. Forcing his weight onto the twisted leg, he kicked down their own door before he lost his balance. Wobbling into their home, he laid the mutilated body down on the living room floor, a mixture of blood and rainwater staining the carpet.

"No…" He whimpered, cupping the hashed up face in his hands, "No, no, no…" His ever-clear green eyes were the only surviving feature of his face. Even in death, his irises were fixed on him with a sort of lifeless forgiveness—Ivan absolutely hated it with all the will he had left.

Ivan rested his thumb to Liet's bottom lip, feeling fragments of bone scrape against his skin. He grimaced as something stung his right hand and he stared down at it, finding the cuts in his palm left by the razor-sharp shard of glass.

He couldn't remember a thing—only a vast expanse of blackness accompanied by the feeling of liberation and indulgence.

Hot tears poured from his eyes and he buried his face into Liet's cold chest and he tasted blood, willing to give away every ounce of his being to bring back the warm and gentle beat of Liet's heart.

"Come back, _lyubimui_, I promise I'll never hurt you again." A wail tore from his lips. "I promise, I _promise!_"

_I've broken too many promises, da? Is that why you left, lyubimui?_

He begged and begged for a second chance, but no warm arms moved to embrace him. No sweet voice whispered in his ear, saying everything will be all right. No gentle mouth moved to kiss his neck, or his lips, and Ivan felt his heart burn and rupture.

He was alone.

Even with his eyes clenched shut, Ivan could see the shadows stirring from the four corners of the room as if they were disturbed by Ivan's mere presence.

His lips began to move against his will as his own voice spoke to him.

"_This man has already died by your own hands. It's your own fault, Vanya."_

Ivan shook his head, clutching onto Liet's cold skin in desperation.

"_Liet was kind. He was kind to you. Why didn't you keep away? If only you kept away, this would not have happened. They were right all along._"

Ivan wailed, hopelessly trying to drown out his words, but he voice continued to speak in his mind—never angry, always calm and condemning.

He lifted his gaze from the bloody cloth, his eyes landing upon the black haze that had been absent from his own life until now. He bared his teeth and cursed it—cursed it until the shadows formed into several hands that wretched him away from his love.

"Liet!" One of the shadows bent over Liet's lifeless gaze. The shape of a hand moved swiftly over his eyes, forever banishing the green light behind cold lids.

"He's dead." Ivan heard it whisper. He struggled even harder, crying and wailing at the top of his lungs.

"_Liet, Liet—! Wake up!_"

"He's dead." The shadow repeated, louder this time. The hands holding him in place pressed him up against the wall besides the shattered door before Ivan heard the clinking of metal as something cold and hard was fastened to both of his hands.

"Your accent—you're Russian, yes?" There was a note of contempt in its voice but Ivan was far from concerned about that. His bloodshot eyes darted back to Liet whose body was being covered up.

"N-no…" He choked, struggling weakly as his strength finally left him. "Let me hold him, please… _please…_ just once more…"

The painful grip on his arms and shoulders didn't relent as the figures dragged him away from the scene. Ivan cried out as a crippling pain shot up his broken leg, but the shadows surrounding him ignored him.

"You killed him," the figure said in an apathetic tone. "I believe you've had your chances."

-x-X-x-

Ivan tilted his head, his hazy eyes staring up at the robed figure seated above him. The man asked him a question in a strong, commanding tone. A crooked smile crossed his chapped lips in response.

"_Da_. I killed him, and the evidence—" he tapped the side of his head,"—is all in here."

Someone spoke up against him but he only shook his head and the hearing passed on until the verdict was read. People rose from their seats as wood scraped against stone and Ivan was lead away from the room.

He passed the mortified figures of his two sisters—his two sisters he barely felt he knew now. The eldest had tears in her eyes while the youngest was pale with mixed emotions. He fixed himself a soft smile for them as he was lead away.

"I made a mistake, Sister."

-x-X-x-

"There's no where to place him. The influx of veterans and patients—"

"There is plenty of room left in Russia—send him back."

"We cannot just do that. He's been tried by Lithuanian laws and he's lived here for the past three years with correct papers."

Ivan snorted at the two men arguing in front of him about his own future.

"However—"

"I hate this country." The men fell silent and Ivan almost laughed at them. Instead, the smile on his face only grew wider. His gut twitched in satisfaction when one of the men shifted uncomfortably. "I hate this place—all of it, but let me stay here. I will not return to my home country."

"If you're assigned to a facility in Moscow your relatives—"

Ivan hissed and cut him off. "A man with blood on his hands has already forsaken his family—I will not return to that place," he said again. Whatever mirth he collected vanished when he thought about never seeing his sisters ever again, but he knew he would rather die than to be forced to look at his them in the eyes.

The door opened and closed and the first thing Ivan noticed was a pair of beady eyes, staring directly at him. He noticed the salt-and-pepper hair that was pulled back into a painfully-tight bun, exposing a chiseled and boney face. Ivan's gaze turned cold when their eyes met. He flexed his hands against the handcuffs binding him down to the chair as he struggled with his instinctive contempt. He felt as if he were being cut apart by the woman's gaze—it wouldn't have been any different if she had been smiling.

The fact that she struck him as someone oddly familiar disturbed him even more than her gaze.

"…I read about his case," she said, her voice drawling and coated in venom as she circled him slowly. "Ivan Braginsky, isn't that right?" She didn't even wait for his answer when she turned to face the two other men. "I can take him to Visailis—we will care for him there."

The two men shared a look, frowning deeply. "We'll have to do an inspection of the institution before we can let you admit another patient. We also need approval from h—"

"Take me there," Ivan murmured. They all turned to look at him as the woman tilted her head to the side, gazing upon him in a curious sort of expectancy. "It does not sound so bad. Anything would be better than being kept in this room." It was a lie, but that didn't matter. He's done worse things than lying.

The corner of maroon lips twitched and the woman reached for the door. "Well this has turned out shorter than I expected. We will discuss this and make arrangements later, yes?" Without waiting for a response, she left the dim room, the door closing behind her with a sharp click.

"He's unstable," one of the men whispered harshly to the other. "Unfortunately, he does not have a say, but it's for the best—the insane do not know what they want."

Ivan made a sound, a stifled scoff, as he shook his lowered head. He couldn't say anything to defend himself without lying, but he certainly knew what he wanted.

-x-X-x-

They shipped him to the new facility, but only a darker and danker room awaited him there. The workers said it would only be temporarily, but they failed the brief him about anything else. Leaving him against the far wall of the all-cement room, they left him on his own in the musky room.

Time passed and Ivan found himself humming and talking to himself, apparently unperturbed by the suspense or his lack of knowledge about what will happen to him from here.

"They want to ask me more questions… I'm afraid they will not leave us alone," he said softly, his chin tilting up just an inch as he stared straight ahead at those two very green eyes. He could see the shadow of his former figure, but it were those eyes that stood out the most. Even in death, his gaze easily pierced through his own irises and into the depths of his thoughts.

"And you will not leave me alone either." He shrugged, resting his eyes once again as he let his head tilt over to the side. "You must be angry with me, Liet. You must hate me—but we brought this upon ourselves, _da_?"

_When I first met you, I did not know what I was expecting for myself when everything ends. Now… I believe I do._

-x-X-x-

"What happened to him?"

Ivan slowly cracked his eyes open to see two people situated in front of him—one of them being the woman he had seen earlier.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "I'm afraid you will have to clarify that. Who is 'him'?"

The man who asked the question bristled. "Gabriel… Gabriel Lanka. What really happened to him?"

_Ah_.

Now he knew why these two looked oddly familiar to him.

"Gabriel… he was a good boy," Ivan replied with a smile. "He told me his parents worked as doctors, not as, ah… the people who would run a place like this."

A foot shoved the leg of his chair, slamming Ivan into the table. He had bit his tongue to prevent himself from crying out.

"How dare you talk about him like that after you testified that he attempted murder during the hearing?"

The hazy smile left his mouth as a cold fog settled over his eyes. "I merely told the truth, Lanka. It was settled three years ago, _da_? You were there, you know—Gabriel Lanka died after he tried to kill m—"

Another kick and Ivan was sent toppling to the ground, unable to move, even as the arm of the chair dug into his bound hands.

Expecting another blow to come to him, Ivan moved his gaze to look at the observer who glowered down at him.

Unperturbed, he continued. "He died after trying to kill me. That was settled in court by the three other witnesses."

A foot pressed down into his chest, borderline crushing his ribs against the back of the chair. "You killed our son. You're a liar and murderer, Braginsky."

Ivan grit his teeth. "I am only one of those—" his breath hitched when the pressure on his chest increased.

He repeated, "What happened to Gabriel?" It was more of a command than a question.

The corner of Ivan's lips twitched into a smile as he bared his teeth at his antagonist. "He shot me, _da_?" His stomach jerked and he could feel the coin-sized scar tingle underneath his clothing. Closing his eyes, he recalled the scene which came back to him as clear as day. The smell of burning oil and tar was sharp in his mind, and so were the sounds of unrestrained screaming. "The spark from the gun ignited the oil he was covered in, and he _burned_."

In any situation besides this, Ivan wouldn't have felt right recalling that fateful day so easily, but nothing stopped him from feeling an ounce of satisfaction at sight of the others' paled faces.

"You asked," he said simply in a matter-of-factly tone. "I would think they would have shared this with you if only you had asked on the day of the trial, yes?"

"And you did not stop it?"

His cheeks ached from the sharpness of his grin, but he didn't relent. He opened his eyes just a crack, gazing haughtily up at Lanka. "I knew he would die soon, but I did not kill him—I tried to save him. It warned me."

The man knelt before him and grasped a fistful of hair, tugging his head back. "Dorov told us you were responsible for his death, but you were never convicted—"

"_Da_, Dorov never like me very much—"

"—We thought the government would watch over you while you lived In Russia, but they permitted you to leave the country and enter _ours._"

"Even you knew, yes?" The woman finally spoke, stepping closer to both of them but keeping her distance at the same time. "There would have been consequences if you were left to roam around on your own. This latest, ah, _casualty_, could have been avoided."

His smile wavered and vanished when the truth of those words sunk in. The woman continued to speak, but her voice faded in and out as vision blurred, yet brightened.

"_Your fault..."_

_No._

"… _all along… always knew—"_

_Stop talking._

"_His name…"_

_Stop talking!_

The sound of Liet's name snapped him out of it and his ears cleared. However, as he tried to regain his focus, his head was whipped back and smashed against the back of the chair, leaving him in a throbbing daze.

"Everyone's left us no choice, But we finally have you in our own hands."

Their blurry figures shifted and turned as Ivan struggled to regain consciousness.

"Let's go… Over time he'll forget everything, and we'll have all the… we need…"

One of the figures gave him one last look.

"Good bye, Ivan Braginsky."

His eyes rolled back and he submitted into the comfortable void once again, forgetting about the meanings of words in favor of rest.

"…"

"_M-my name's Gabriel Lanka of Lietuva… Our commander said we'll be partners."_

"_Then I'm Ivan. So you'll be my new comrade, yes?"_

"_Yeah, I'll do my best. We're both new, but they told me you were more experienced to be…"_

A small laugh—nothing malicious or insincere.

"_You're making yourself nervous just by talking. Are you afraid?"_

"_No!"_

"_That's good. We'll be fine… Home will come to us in no time, but I look forward to working with you."_

The blackness itself distorted and was given a far from comforting atmosphere.

Suddenly, he was wrestling and grappling with someone. Sand, dust, and dirt invaded his eyes and nose before he was given a brief feeling of weightlessness. He collided with an invisible ground before he and his opponent knocked over something. It wasn't long before his eyes and nose burned from the following smell of oil. He struggled to regain his sense of balance as the thick liquid trickled into his eyes.

"_Gabriel, stop this—you're not thinking clearly!"_

"_Shut up! Valenskaya, the Commander, half our team is dead! W-we're all going to die here, Braginsky."_

The click of a gun.

"_There's… there's no need for that. Gabriel, put that away and come with me. Everything will be—"_

"_They're all dead because of you! HQ abandoned us here and you promised… you promised—!"_

"_Gabriel, listen—"_

"_They're dead… Everyone's dead…"_

"_No, we'll get out of here alive—"_

Bang.

Pain… pain spreading throughout his gut and he collapsed, jagged rocks digging into the fresh wound. He could recognize Dorov cursing and both Petrovitch and Osmanovic shouting at him to get out of there.

He felt heat—an immense heat. It was spreading and he was forced onto his feet. Summoning the last of his strength, he blindly scaled the rocky wall andaway from the crackling of fire.

The roar of flames was borderline deafening, but it did nothing to mask up the horrid screams.

"_Put out that fire—!"_

"_We can't, Braginsky—!"_

"_Shoot him."_

"_W-what—?"_

"_Shoot him! I can't see his head like this."_

There was the clatter of rivets and notches before one fateful second passed. A muffle shot sounded and those screams were silenced in the flames.

Someone was tugging on him after three agonizing seconds.

"…"

"…_Gabriel's gone now."_

"_There wasn't anything we could've done for him, huh."_

"_Quick, we need to treat this. Take him back to camp… Braginsky, hang in there. Help… help was promised for us tomorrow. We're gonna get you to a real hospital soon."_

Ivan could have cried.

-x-X-x-

The heavy steel door was swung open and Ivan was carelessly thrown back inside his own quarters, for the time-being. The door slammed shut, leaving him in. Holding his head and staggering aimlessly, Ivan collapsed on the old bed as cold sweat dripped down his face. He heaved himself onto the mattress, panting in shuddering gasps. He threw his eyes to the far corner of the room to see the only company he had in this hell.

"Do you enjoy seeing me in this state?" He grit his teeth, pausing to take in more gulps of musty air. "I know I deserve this, _lyubimui." _ The word no longer felt like an endearment. "Tell me you enjoy this, and maybe I can find at least a little bit of comfort."

No answer, just sad eyes—sad, but very green eyes.

"W-why do you have that face—?" It hurt to talk, but he didn't know what else to do besides talk. "Why do you have a face like that?" He shook his head as he repeated the question.

"… Leave me be, _lyubimui…_" He gave up trying to keep his head up, letting it drop against the threadbare sheets in a subtle air of defeat.

-x-X-x-

The man with the green eyes appeared to him once again, except this time, he spoke to him—once he did, he quickly realized this was not the same person.

"Priv… Privyet." His Russian was clumsy, quite unlike what he was normally used to

"_You speak Russian?_" He knew the answer, but he wanted to ask anyway. He had no reason, only an urge. His actions in the past months relied on urges rather than reason either way.

"I've studied the language, but I only speak a little Russian," the stranger replied.

_Of course._

The young man didn't seem to mean him any harm, but he knew these sort of acts well—he's seem them all too many times.

"This is fine—" his voice was already husky from lack of use and reverting to Lithuanian only made him harder to understand, but he continued, "Shame, Russian is beautiful, da? From heaven… Now, what are you here for?" He reached for the covers, pulling them over his back and around his arms.

The brunette extended a hand towards him in response. Taken by surprise, his constant smile faltered. The stranger spoke carefully, "To talk to you… My name is Toris. What about yours?"

Toris. He has never heard that name before. He must be fresh here.

"If you are new here, then I pity you." He reached up and lazily shook his hand, letting his own drop back down against the sheets.

The man named Toris asked him another question, and he simply answered it with one of his own. However, despite his laid-back derisions, the brunette showed no sign of impatience for him. He spoke of Russia—the country these people hated, but still, he was less than successful in provoking the other.

"Do you miss it?"

He stiffened. This person was asking if he actually missed his own country. He looked down at his hands that gave a single jerk. "… Very much so," he answered quietly.

Looking back at him, Ivan noticed for the first time how warm this person's eyes were. It amazed him that he didn't see this before.

Swallowing and strengthening his composure, Ivan spoke to him again, refusing to let himself give in to that mysterious warmth.

-x-X-x-

"_Do you think I'm crazy?_" Of course he did, why would he be here in the first place?

"_Crazy…? That's unfair. We've only just met but… I cannot say you're crazy—you've given me no reason to."_

_You are such a strange person, Toris._

_Does it not bother you? You know hatred as well as I do, yes? You speak of it so lightly… _

_You say hate passes._

_But you're wrong… If you say hate always passes on, then it would just go by faster if you kill, no?_

"_No… That's the easy way out. In the end, it'll only inspire more death and hatred._"

It took him a moment to realize he'd been speaking out loud and that his hands were tightly clasped to Toris's shoulders. Despite his invasion of personal space, the other did nothing to protest or shove him off.

_You… you are so strange, Toris._

Letting himself go, Ivan allowed himself a taste of that warmth.

**- - x – X – x - - **

_I'm sorry this is horribly late u-u I haven't been managing my time very well and I've been having trouble setting real-life and online priorities, and priorities among writing and drawing to boot. Life's been a rollercoaster, but I think things have been evening out lately. I thought summer vacation would give me more time to think about Lamentia and write longer chapters at a faster rate, but it's been quite the opposite. Please, please bear with me, we're almost there._

_Anyways, this chapter is a mess. The first part was written three weeks ago and the last part just last night. I think I may have to go back and sharpen things up, but for now, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter._

_Also, because this has become such an issue, if you're still wondering whether Liet and Toris are the same people, they're not. Please think about that. I've also clarified this in a past author's note. It's not a spoiler because I've suggested the answer several times._

_Otherwise, thank you all for your patience and support._

_Love._


	13. Apparition

_**Title: **__Lamentia  
__**Author: **__Kaisre  
__**Rating: **__T  
__**Summary: **Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **Lithuania / Toris, Russia / Ivan, America / Alfred, Prussia / Gilbert_

* * *

**_- Lamentia -_**

**_- XIII -_**

* * *

"_He'll never let you go."_

_Toris tightly grasped his foam cup of coffee, staring idly at the swirls of smoke spiraling from the brown liquid. "Of course he won't, but he doesn't love me—I'm not what he wants."_

_The coffee shop was deserted. It was the middle of the afternoon by the looks of the sun, Toris observed, but the streets and neighboring buildings were absent of life._

_He focused his attention on his only company—his own reflection sitting across from him with a similar smoking object in his hands._

"_You can't save everyone. He's beyond help."_

_Toris narrowed his eyes as he leaned over the table. This wasn't right—something was wrong. "It's you… I've seen you before, but you're not me." He felt as though the memory was within his grasp, but he couldn't remember any of the details. Everything was foggy—it was impossible to think clearly in this state._

"_He won't let you go. Run away."_

_Toris's eyebrows wrinkled as he frowned deeply. The other did not match his expression as he grasped his own hands tightly together to avoid crushing his cup. "I'll… I'll never run away again. It's my job—this is what I'm supposed to do."_

"_Your job is only an excuse. You…" His voice faded out and in again. "You…"_

_His frown only deepened as he tilted his head in confusion. Only when his gaze traveled downward did he notice the dark red splotch blossoming like a flower on his reflection's clothes. Looking down slowly, Toris noticed a similar stain penetrating his own front._

"_Run away, Toris."_

"_Toris."_

"… Wake up!"

A harsh voice snapped him out of his dream as his spine straightened back into shape.

"S-sorry…" He hastily apologized, scrambling to reorganize the papers he was supposed to be screening. "I don't remember falling asleep."

"Get it together, Laurinaitis—remember, you're on probation."

Toris stiffened as he felt his skin prickle over. "What probation? I didn't do anything wrong—"

The worker pat him on the back roughly before turning away from him. "Relax, I'm just screwing with you, for now at least."

Toris groaned inwardly as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. "Are you on the leave too?"

"Me and the rest of the facility. We've been dismissed to be relocated to other asylums."

The brunette looked back down at his papers to try and refocus on his work, but to no avail. "I haven't been told to leave. They told me to stay here."

"You, Marcel, a few others, and the heads." The man shook his head in disapproval. "Good riddance though—I can't stand this place. This isn't the first time this has happened either."

Scratching the side of his head with the tip of his pen, Toris peered back up at him. "What?"

"What?"

"You said this isn't the first time this has happened. You're saying there was a mass layoff before?"

"Not really… We had doctors, the guys way up there," he replied, making an odd gesture with his hands, "break their contracts and desert this place."

Toris frowned, his curiosity peaking. "Why?"

"Some say they got cold feet about something. Others say they were running from something else." He grinned. "I say it was probably both. Whatever it was, they disappeared one by one, just like that." He snapped his fingers and Toris flinched.

"Hey! He's still new here, so stop scaring him, Jonas!" Someone shouted from a different cubicle.

The man shrugged and left him alone to his own work. Unsettled, Toris blinked and returned to tending to his new duties as an intern without another word, the dream forgotten.

-x-X-x-

"Morning, bagel?"

"Thanks," Toris mumbled as he accepted the piece of food before nibbling on it sheepishly.

"You look tired," Alfred observed, walking alongside him. "Something I didn't hear about?"

"My hours have been extended, eleven hours a day, and I've been forbidden to tend to any more patients." Toris sighed heavily, pausing to take a bigger bite out his food. "My work's been restricted to paperwork and taking phone calls from hospitals and what not."

"Strictly work for an intern, huh?"

Toris nodded as the two continued down the corridor. "I feel like I've been demoted."

"Demoted or not, we're both lucky to still have our jobs," Alfred pointed out. "Less patients, less workers are needed to care for them."

"But the paperwork remains the same…" He sighed, appearing to be oblivious to the other's bright outlook. "Have you been assigned anyone?"

"Not really. Like there's anyone left to… I mean…" The blonde caught his blunder and stumbled over his own words awkwardly. He looked back at Toris who had his head lowered, his brow creased by fresh worry. "I'm sure Ivan's still here. He wasn't on the lists to be relocated, remember?"

Toris chewed his lip and shoved another piece of bagel into his mouth before he drew blood. "Who wasn't?"

"Huh?"

"Who _wasn't_ put on the list?"

"Ivan for sure, I haven't been keeping tabs on any other patients—it wasn't part of the deal."

Toris wasn't sure which deal he was talking about—the one he made with him, or the one that he made with his previous mentor. He shrugged the question off—it was too risky to ask anyway. However, the question on Ivan remained, which quickly reminded him of one crucial thing, one thing he had been waiting for what seemed like more than three days.

"Alfred, what day is it?"

The American's mouth twitched in a poorly restrained smile. "Happy birthday, Toris. I left your present on your desk. Everything you need should be in there to make your day."

Toris let a half-smile show as he embraced the other in a tight hug. "Thanks for everything," he whispered before pulling away. With a firm look in his eyes, he gave Alfred one last nod of appreciation before heading towards his own desk.

-x-X-x-

"_Dear Toris… take this identification and go to the second floor. The place you're looking for is opposite from his former room."_

Toris walked slowly up the stairwell, careful not to make a sound or draw any attention to himself. He knew the second floor was mostly made up of living quarters for the patients, but with the patients gone, there was little reason for anyone to be lurking around in this area.

"_The room where he's kept has two entrances—the more obvious one being under guard and surveillance, and the other leading to an old lab that's been closed down for renovation… that never came. Take a roundabout way to your left and avoid the front entrance. You can't miss the lab. Only the highest level of doctors are able to get in—I have Gordon to thank for this."_

Slipping around a corner, Toris avoided any eyes that might've been out there. He picked up the pace, his shoes creating a faint clicking noise against the hard floor. Double sliding doors were spotted ahead and Toris knew without a doubt that this was what he was looking for. Fumbling for the mysterious card within his coat, Toris studied the slot and doors carefully. They weren't in bad shape, but it was obvious that no one had stepped foot through these doors for a very long time. Toris ran the card through the slot after pulling it out from his pocket, mentally praying that it'll work.

A light flashed a merciful green before the steel doors slid open, but not without sending forth a cloud of dust. Coughing, he didn't wait for the air to clear before breaking for it. The doors shut behind him as he felt a wave of claustrophobia suddenly wash over him. The room was dark, even with the feeble rays of morning light filtering through the grungy windows. He was barely given enough light to see where he was going.

The table tops of the lab were all cleared of any objects, leaving only a thick layer of dust behind. There was a stairway that lead downstairs, but it was boarded up with flimsy-looking planks of wood. Toris frowned, stopping before what should have been the first step. He didn't remember a second stairway downstairs—there was only the main one that he had taken right before.

"_I'll buy you some time. I'll have all your errands taken care of and Marcel will be too distracted to notice that you aren't around. However, don't take too long up there. I doubt the guys left anything behind after shutting the lab down, but don't let yourself get distracted, no matter what you see. You know what you're gonna be there for."_

"Yeah, you're right." Toris let out a shaky breath, weakly attempting to get his composure together. He slowed down once he passed the stairway, the entire place giving him an unsettling feeling. He looked ahead, relieved to see that the second entrance was in plain sight—Alfred wasn't lying.

"_Don't get caught."_

-x-X-x-

"May there always be sunshine, may there always be blue skies… May there always be mother, may there always be… _moya lyubov_. I think I like that better…" Ivan sighed and shifted his entire body, his head resting against the rusty bars of his cell. Dreary light filtered in through cracked, but barred windows, illuminating the ever-present specks of dust like glitter.

Exhaling deeply, Ivan closed his clouded eyes, only to reopen them again when he heard a strange noise from the darker side of the room. There was someone there, and he was coming closer. Tilting his head, Ivan waited for his visitor to step into the light.

"Hush…" He whispered gently, lifting a crooked finger to his lips. "They'll hear us—you mustn't make a sound."

The mysterious man revealed himself to have strikingly green eyes that caught the light well, even in its dimness. He walked with a fearless, yet careful feel to his steps. With his face set in a serene sort of way, he lacked the type of fear the others possessed for Ivan.

This man would probably prove to be hardly any fun.

He knelt in front of him on the other side of the bars as Ivan lazily rest his eyes on him, waiting for him to speak. He had a pretty face… a face he's seen before—perhaps from a blissful dream he had.

"Ivan?"

Ivan smiled at the sound of his name and rest his eyes, bowing his head. He had a sweet voice as well—one that soothed the pain in his body and loosened the knot within his chest.

"Doctor, it's much too early for it… I've been good…"

The voice assumed a subtle note of confusion. "Ivan, I'm not a doctor… It's me, Toris…"

"You have pretty eyes…" He chuckled softly, slumping lower against the bars. "They're nice… I like your voice too, 'is sweet."

The confusion grew stronger. "Ivan?"

"Ah, you say my name again. No one says my name… They call me something else, Doctor."

Ivan felt the other's hands wrap around the steel bars as he leaned in closer. "I'm not a doctor, don't you remember? I'm Toris, the one who took care of you before… before all this."

Ivan chuckled again, stronger this time. "_Nyet_. You're not him… But he did take good care of me. He was kind to me… He fed me and talked to me every day. He was always kind, never cold, not like winter. He reminded me of the sun—he was very warm… and soft." Reaching out from between the bars, Ivan coiled a lock of rich brown hair around his second finger, admiring its smoothness.

The man swallowed thickly—his first sign of uneasiness. "His name was Toris, Ivan. That was me."

The passiveness left Ivan's face in an instant before he hissed and shoved the man away from him, much to the surprise of the other. Growling angrily, his eyes flashed in fierce indignation. "Toris is dead."

-x-X-x-

Toris bit his tongue to prevent himself from crying out after the other pushed him away with surprising force.

"Toris is dead," he snapped at him, attacking the bars as he bared his teeth. "You have no right to say his name, you… you…"

Toris helped himself up back to his knees, but kept his distance in case the other decided to lash out at him again. "Ivan, please, don't you—?"

"He was kind to me," Ivan whispered again, cutting over him as if he could no longer hear the other. He grasped the bars so tightly that the metal shook under his grip. "So very kind… T-they said I killed him too, so they took me here, for punishment." He pursed his lips together, shaking.

Toris lessened the distance between them, but took extra caution in approaching him this time. "That's not true…"

"I-I didn't believe them at first," Ivan hiccupped, shaking his head from side to side. "But T-Toris didn't come for me anymore… It feels like it has been years in this prison, _da_?"

"It's only been…" His sentence trailed off when Toris realized it was useless to convince Ivan of anything otherwise while he was in this state. "Do you… Do you miss him?"

"I miss him…" Ivan breathed. "Why won't he come for me? I hurt… I hurt a lot every day and he made it go away. I want him to come back. I want him back…"

Toris pulled himself closer, but the other was too busy with his own grief to notice. "He's very sorry…" he told him gently, "He's sorry he left… But he'll come back for you, if you wait for him."

Ivan gazed up at him, his eyes red and lips wet. "I… I want to see him."

Toris blinked slowly, the Russian's request stumping him for a slightest moment until he received a vague idea. "Close your eyes."

He tilted his head, his frosted eyes staring at him curiously before obediently shutting close.

Toris reached for him, letting his fingertips brush against his ghostly bangs before resting on either side of his face. "Wait for him… he'll come."

Ivan cocked his head, pressing himself up against the bars as he breathed out deeply in anticipation. "Come out, come out, I'm waiting…" he hummed softly.

Toris cupped his face gently. "…Ivan?"

Ivan perked up to the sound of his name, as if he were listening to a different person this time. For a drawn-out minute, he remained silent, listening for the slightest sounds. His eyes remained closed as he finally spoke, "_Moya_ _lyubov_… Are you really here?"

Stroking a cold cheek with his thumb, he murmured, "You wanted me back…"

"They said you were dead…" His eyelids twitched and Toris quickly covered them before they reopened. "Toris—?"

"Shh…" He hushed gently. "Don't look at me."

"… Is Toris angry with me? I did not mean it… I remember blood on your face, I did not mean it…"

Toris removed his hand when he felt his lashes brush back down against his palm. "It wasn't your fault. I'm not angry, Ivan, I promise."

Ivan smiled and grasped one of his hands, rubbing his cheek against it. "Toris knows tricks to make Ivan feel better."

Toris folded his fingers over his, grasping his hand. "They're not tricks, Ivan."

"Are too," he chuckled, but frowned when he failed to push past the bars in an attempt to grow closer to him. Eyes shooting open, he let go of whatever he was holding only to reach from between the bars. He stared straight ahead at him, but without truly seeing him. "Why… Didn't Toris come sooner?" His words fell into a low whine as if he were mocking a child voicing his disapproval.

Toris sighed, his shoulders drooping. "There were… things that kept me from—mmf." He blinked when Ivan pressed a finger to his lips. The blonde tilted his head, his pupils unmoving.

"Did Toris forget Ivan?" He whispered, his lips barely moving.

Toris shook his head and calmly coaxed Ivan's hand down away from his own mouth. "Of course not—I thought about Ivan everyday."

He smiled, but the unnerving smile didn't reach his frozen eyes. "Toris makes me happy…" He purred. "But I must not get too happy. They can see it, and they take it. They take everything that Toris gives me."

"They can't take everything from you."

Ivan poked his nose from between the bars, gazing up at him from behind his lashes. "Toris?"

Toris slowly leaned in, drawing closer to him. "What is it, Ivan?"

He gave him a tiny nod. "_Potseluy menya…_"

Toris looked at him quizzically, but before he could voice his bewilderment, Ivan's mouth caught his own in a kiss. He made a noise of protest, but Ivan didn't relent as he scraped his chapped lips against his. His cold arms wrapped around his waist, drawing him in against the bars of his cell.

Toris arched his back into his embrace, slowly letting himself go. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was shouting to get a hold of himself, but his body was unwilling to listen. Something wasn't right, this definitely wasn't right, but he couldn't _stop_.

An unfamiliar warmth flooded his mind and Toris subconsciously smiled into the kiss. He opened his arms to the rush of bliss, but his rapture was cut short by the sharp contrast of pain tearing through his middle.

He let out a cry of pain, tearing himself away from the kiss, but he remained pinned in place by the knife that was embedded into his stomach. Looking down, Toris coated his shaking hands in his own blood. His eyes returned to Ivan's and he struggled to speak, but he could no longer find his words.

Ivan leaned in and gave him one last kiss to the forehead. "_I told you to run_."

"A-ah…" Toris rasped, swaying on the spot before slumping lifelessly against the unforgiving bars of the prison.

-x-X-x-

The man jerked in his arms, a strangled gasp escaping from his throat. Puzzled, Ivan looked down at him as he tightened his hold, determined to not let the brunette slump against the filthy floor of the chamber.

The other's hands snaked over his own torso before suddenly digging into his stomach, as if he were trying to get something out. Frowning, Ivan nuzzled his ear, whispering gently, "Toris is having a bad dream…"

The fingers loosened, but they still twitched over the invisible wound. The Lithuanian's brow furrowed in silent agony as his skin grew clammy with cold sweat. Ivan pat his cheek with the front of his sleeve, his own face filled with a mix of concern and uneasiness. "What's wrong?"

Toris didn't respond, as expected. Ivan couldn't remember what happened before. It was as if he had woken up from a long and deep sleep, only to find Toris wrapped tightly in his arms with his back to the metal rods. It took him a moment to find himself and realize that this was _real_, and that Toris was real, just submerged in a fitful sleep.

As physically comfortable as he was, Ivan still gave the other a little shake. "Toris, wake up…"

"_He won't wake up… not yet."_

Ivan scowled and turned his face to the source of the voice. "Go away."

A pair of hands rested on his shoulder but Ivan hurriedly shook them off, burying his nose into the top of Toris's hair, his eyes clenched shut.

"_He's dreaming about you and all the things that you'll do to him."_

"… I liked you better as a black haze, _da_? Not as talkative."

"_I won't go away, Vanya… Haven't you learned that?"_ Ivan peeked to his side to see his own mirror image take a seat besides him. He quickly turned his face in the opposite direction when the reflection met his gaze. He nodded towards Toris. _"This one won't last as long as the other one."_

Ivan tightened his embrace instinctively. He shook his head and resumed hiding his face in the Lithuanian's hair. "Leave him alone," he compelled the other in a tiny voice. He slid his fingers in between the glossy locks, silently admiring the feel. "Why do you always want to hurt him…? Toris is good—he's kind to me…"

Ivan saw his own face grin at his words as his counterpart stood back up. He stepped through the bars like a ghost before entering the cell again, pacing around him in a tight circle. _"You're obsessed with him,"_ he leered. _"You don't care—you take what you want, and you're driving your Toris crazy, just like your last object of interest."_

"It wasn't my fault!" Ivan argued, hiding his face away from his tormentor in the crook of Toris's neck. "_…and he was not an object._"

"_Of course it was your fault, but I can never be angry with Vanya." _He stopped his pacing to kneel right in front of Toris, cooing, _"Just look at his face… Doesn't it make you happy knowing you have so much power over him?"_

Ivan ignored his last statement, glowering at his reflection who only smiled back at him. "It wasn't my fault…" He mumbled again, watching as his tormenter reached forward to touch Toris's face. Hissing, he tugged the man in his arms away from his reach. "You can't touch him."

"_I know I can't… This is all in your head, don't you realize?" _He shook his head. _"Never mind, Vanya. How can you say this is not your fault? You don't remember a thing about Liet's betrayal, do you?"_

Ivan remained silent.

Laughing, his reflection continued, _"You dream about him every night, and yet you cannot remember anything that happened. You cannot remember because you've found a replacement… and soon, you'll need another one."_

"No!" Ivan shouted, denying everything his tormentor was saying. He looked down at Toris, shaking him awake. "Toris, Toris please wake up! M-Make him go away…"

Sure enough, the younger man stirred, groaning faintly. He bent forward, away from Ivan's warm hold.

His antagonist merely watched as Ivan let his arms drop, relieved that he was finally responding to him. "T-Toris…" Toris whirled around to face him, staring at him in utter bewilderment. Ivan reached forward and grabbed one of his hands, the rest of his body pressed against the bars.

"Ivan?" He whipped his head around, a look of horror dawning on his face as he realized his surroundings. "How did I—?"

"_He blames you."_

"Shut up," Ivan hissed, turning his attention back to Toris who stared at him in confusion.

His reflection circled around them once more before stopping behind Toris to lay his hands on the unsuspecting's shoulders. _"He sees suffering as something that can easily be seen. Do you think he can see yours as well?"_

Ivan only had eyes for the tormentor's hands while his own hand unconsciously clenched onto Toris's. Flinching in pain, Toris tried to tug it hand away. "I-Ivan…"

"_Then he's only kind to you because he feels sorry for you. He's like the rest of them, da? They only want one thing from you."_

"Ivan, please let go…"

With his eyes in the mirror image, Ivan tugged Toris closer to the bars of the cell, still clutching his hand in a deathlike grip. He brought their shaking hands together, lifting them to his lips. "D-don't take him away."

"No one's going anywhere…" Toris coaxed him despite the pain his hand was in. "But you have to let go, please…"

"_I warned you, I warned you about Liet, Vanya."_ The tugging grew harder as he watched his reflection circle his arms around Toris's waist. _"Mine now."_

Ivan felt something snap in his chest as he threw himself against the bars, shouting, "_No!"_

Toris ripped himself away from him, falling back against the filthy prison floor. His face was contorted in pain as he clutched something, something that was bleeding red. When he caught Ivan looking straight at him, terrified, he shoved his bleeding hand behind his back, but the Russian already saw what he had done.

"Toris…" He whispered, shaking his head as his watering eyes locked with his. "I-it's not my fault…"

"I know," he replied, "I—" He stopped and turned his head to the sound of footsteps coming from the opposite side of where he entered. "I-I have to go." He backed away from the cell, away from Ivan's mortified gaze. Giving him one last anguished look, Toris turned and ran.

Ivan stared after him before noticing the still-wet blood underneath his fingernails.

"_Tsk, you got his blood on your hands sooner than I expected."_

"You caused this… You.. You always take everything away from me. I liked you better as a shadow," Ivan mumbled again. "Go away."

His reflection rested his head against his shoulder, smiling softly as if nothing were wrong. _"You need to stop blaming others for your mistakes. I'll go away for now, but they won't."_

Ivan turned his face away from him and away from the shadowed figures approaching him. "I know."

He nuzzled him and Ivan shut his eyes tightly as if the shade's touch burned him. _"Think about the one who was yours, who you lost… The one who put you in this place."_

"I do think about him…" The cell door was unlocked and wrenched open but Ivan didn't do as much as lift his head to the noise.

"…But he was never mine in the first place."

-x-X-x-

"Jones, have you seen Laurinaitis anywhere?"

Alfred stopped in mid-dial as he slowly lowered his desk phone. "Uh… I think he was heading for the worker's lounge. Busy guy you know—he has places to be." His eyes landed on a thick stack of papers. "…Are those for him?"

"They're lists," the worker replied. "But yeah they're for him—phone calls he needs to make by the end of the day."

Alfred inwardly groaned and outstretched his hand, beckoning for him to hand over the stack. "Giv'em here, I'm on phone duty tonight."

The man raised an eyebrow but complied. "Phone duty? You look like you have your own workload to worry about."

"Sucks for me then," Alfred retorted, taking the papers from his arms and slapping them down on his mess of a desktop. "Guess that's what happens when you let go of ninety-nine-point-nine percent of your staff. Now shoo, I have disgruntled clients to deal with."

"Eh, not my problem." The worker shrugged and left him to his own devices.

Once the other man was out of sight, he let himself bury his face into the mess of papers and crumpled sticky notes, groaning aloud. "Toriss… It's been an hour. Where are you?"

The other should've been back by now, unless something got in the way…

The chair he was sitting in fell to the ground with a crash as Alfred hurried out of his temporary office, making sure nobody noticed him on the way out. "I swear to god, Toris, it took me days to come up with that plan." It wasn't much of a plan, he knew, but it still took time and a hell lot of thinking to fabricate.

Heading for the main stairwell, Alfred sped past several office doors before halting to a stop. Walking in his direction was the last person Alfred wanted to meet at the moment, or at any moment for that matter—Marcel. He didn't need anyone asking him any questions _now_. Avoiding eye contact, Alfred turned and made himself a detour—right into the men's restroom.

The restroom and its stalls were deserted as far as he could tell, except for a brown-haired man bent over one of the sinks. A brown-haired man he recognized as—

"Toris!" Alfred almost cried in relief, rushing to the Lithuanian's side. "You took forever, I got worried—people are looking for you so I guess it's best if you, hey… Are you listening to me?"

The other didn't even do as much as spare him a glance. His eyes were oddly unfocused but they were fixed downwardly at his hands—his hands that were scrubbing at each other vigorously.

Alfred shut the sink off and grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him so that they faced each other. "Stop that, you're gonna scrub your own skin off. What's the deal anyways?"

Toris stared at him blankly before frowning. "Alfred?"

Alfred blinked and let go of him. "Who else would it be? Are you doing okay there?"

Toris shook his head. "I'm going crazy." He reached for the sink again but Alfred stopped him.

"What makes you think…" He trailed off as he spotted the mottled blotches of red on Toris's hand accompanied by the dark bruises underneath. "You're bleeding."

"Well, uhm, slightly."

"What happened…?"

Toris pulled his hand away and put it back under the running water. "He didn't want to let me go."

"That's it? I don't even…" Alfred shook his head and forced Toris to look back at him. "So he crushed your hand, Toris."

Toris stared down at his hand in response, flexing his fingers and flicking the water off of them. "Ah, not quite. I can still move it despite the major stinging and minor swelling."

Alfred sighed, running his fingers through his hair for the countless time that day. "That's not the point. You told me he never hurt you."

"He never hurt me… Not until now—" A tiny gasp left his lips as his uninjured hand flew to his stomach. "He…"

"You're going to have to tell me everything that happened with Braginsky, Toris."

Toris groaned and let himself fall forward, pressing his forehead to the mirror. "I saw things, Alfred, and I don't even know what was part of the dream, and what wasn't. I was talking to him… But I don't know if that part was real or not. I said I was going crazy."

Alfred stepped back and locked the bathroom door. "You dreamt?" He asked quietly, slowly approaching him again.

Toris nodded, turning his eyes to him. "Realistic one too. I don't even understand how I fell asleep in a place like that. H-he did something, in the dream I mean, and next thing I know, I wake up with my back to his cell."

"Toris."

"What…? Don't you believe me?"

Alfred had a look of concern deeply set in his eyes. "You were only gone for an hour, maybe less… There's no way you could've fallen deep enough in your sleep to have a dream." He watched as the other distractedly tore himself a piece of paper towel to dab at his wound.

"I know… I was thinking about that, but I had one and I can't deny it."

"What happened? In your dream I mean."

"Well… we were talking, and then uhm, I got close, a-and he…" Toris drew a tiny line above his naval with his finger. "Did me in right here. Never mind, it was just another bad dream—forget I mentioned anything."

"Never mind it then." Alfred shrugged and pulled himself a length of paper towel to wrap over Toris's hand. "This'll do before I sneak you some bandages and ointment. No stitches?"

"He didn't go that deep…" Toris answered quietly.

"But deep enough to make you bleed like that." He nodded towards the sink. "You don't feel so invincible now, do you?"

Toris stared at him. "What?"

Alfred tied both ends of the paper towel in a secure knot. "Sorry, hit a language barrier there. What I mean is that you do realize that Ivan can hurt you now, don't you?"

Toris blinked and kept his chin steady. "I always knew—"

"You knew he was _unstable,_" Alfred finished over him, "but you never thought that Ivan would personally lay a hand on you."

"I didn't expect this," Toris admitted, "But he didn't realize—" he shook his head, adding in, "I'm not making excuses for him, but he was occupied with something else… He saw something that I couldn't see, and he was talking to it. Not once during what I think _is_ real did he look at me in the eyes and truly see me."

"Creepy," Alfred commented. "You do remember that he's schizo, right?"

"… That's it." Toris looked up at him with wide eyes, realization slowly dawning upon him.

"Woah, so you did forget—?"

"No! I mean…" He paused to take a deep breath as he tried to find a way to explain himself, "That's the thing… I went through his medical records that you gave me from the database in Russia. He was suspected of having schizophrenia until after he returned from the incident in Afghanistan. He was diagnosed with the real thing—only because he started showing more serious signs of it."

Alfred frowned. "I'm not following you."

"Technically, Ivan never had schizophrenia, or more like a serious case of it until… Until…" Toris bit his lip and closed his eyes, mentally searching through all the material he had studied. "There's something missing."

"Unfortunately, I kinda got that."

"Something caused the state he's in, and _something_ is making it worse—" Toris froze.

"_Some say they got cold feet about something. Others say they were running from something else… I say it was probably both. Whatever it was, they disappeared one by one, just like that."_

"Gilbert…"

"_It's the rumors, I guess—no one wants to work there. I was offered a good position at Visailis, just like my old man, but I followed my advisor and took up the job of a pharmacy technician."_

"_But you just said your father works at the facility, right?"_

"_Nein__. He quit the job and went elsewhere for something new..."_

Toris shivered when he remembered the conversation he had with Gilbert almost a month ago. "Gilbert knows…"

Alfred gave him another look of utter confusion. "Who's uh… Gilbert?"

"He's an old friend of mine," he hastily explained, rushing past Alfred to unlock the restroom door.

"Woah, wait, slow down there—"

"He might not know exactly what's up, but he's definitely worth a try… Plus, my prescription is running out." He opened the door a crack before closing it again. "Al?"

"Before you say something, you're gonna have to explain yourself to me—"

"In your car."

"…What?"

"After hours, I'll need you to take me to my friend. I'll explain in the car." He stopped, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Uhm, is that okay with you?"

"Uh, yeah… I mean, of course. We don't have much time in here anyways—you have about a hundred pages worth of names and numbers to call."

Toris looked at him in disbelief. "You told me you'd take care of the stuff like that."

Alfred held his hands up defensively. "Hey, I never said I'd be _good_ at it. No way am I a real professional at what I'm being hired for at the moment."

Toris only shook his head and sighed, leaving Alfred alone in the restroom.

-x-X-x-

"Gilbert's a friend of mine from my earlier college days. We took our medical classes together—human growth and development I think—but we split and took two different paths later on. I chose psychology and therapy while he chose medicinal studies."

"Are you two close?"

Toris arched an eyebrow at him. "Close?"

"Like, best-buds close I mean."

"Not… exactly," Toris almost laughed, "We were forced to be partners and I guess he found out I was worth some investment when he realized how serious I took my work."

"So he cheated off of you?"

"Gilbert is kind of… crude, but he isn't an idiot. He works at the pharmacy I go to, and he got there on his own."

"Oh right…" Alfred awkwardly cleared his throat. "So, which exit are we looking for again?"

"The next one I think, stay on the right."

"Right."

Toris nodded stiffly and looked out the window, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. He looked back at Alfred, who had his eyes on the road.

"Al?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm, uhm… I'm sorry if I was acting odd today." He looked down at his bandaged right hand, trying to find the right words to say. "I felt like I was going to collapse at any time. For all I know, this can just be a huge dream I'm having right now."

"As a solid, living, breathing human being, I think it would be safe to say that you're awake, Toris."

"Well, I could wake up right now to find myself confused—either deeply confused or dead with a knife in my chest."

"Just those two options, huh? Good thing you're already awake." He flicked the right signal on as he slowly exited the freeway. "Right or left?"

Toris smiled. "Just those two options, huh? Take a left and then a right, but wait till I let you know."

"Right-o. I hope your friend of yours knows something."

"And can I ask you of something?"

"Go on."

"Let's not involve Gilbert in the whole, uhm," Toris said, "corruption thing with Visaillis."

"Wasn't planning to. Do you want me to come along?"

Toris nodded. "I feel bad for making you drive this far, but I want you to come in because you might want to hear what he says."

"If you say so. I trust you, but just to be safe… Don't let anything slip from our side of the whole thing yourself."

"I won't… I just need to get a few words from him," Toris promised. "… Thank you."

"No problem."

"I mean for everything you've done for me," he explained, "I was supposed to help you in your case, according to Gordon, but that didn't call for you to save me Sunday night and jeopardize your identity. I thought it was just a coincidence or something, but you took up my job for a day even though you hated it, just so I could see Ivan… which I kind of blew." He sighed.

"You didn't blow it, Toris," Alfred eased at him, "We can talk about him later, though."

"Why do you do it? I mean, why do you help me like that?"

Alfred offered him a slight grin. "Well, you can ask yourself a question—are we coworkers, or are we friends?"

-x-X-x-

"Laurinaitis, I told you, you have to give us a twenty-four hour notice before you can pick up your medicine, geeze."

"He calls you by your last name?" Alfred asked him in a poorly suppressed whisper.

Gilberts eyes landed on him and he frowned, giving him the far-from-friendly impression. "Who's your boyfriend?"

"He's not," Toris groaned and shook his head. "His name's—"

"Al," Alfred said curtly. "I'm just his ride."

Gilbert nodded slowly, looking unconvinced. "Sure then."

"Never mind that," Toris cut across them impatiently. "You knew I was coming, Gilbert. It's the same every month."

He watched the other shove papers and crumple up old receipts. "Store policy. Honestly speaking, I would appreciate it if you would stop visiting me so suddenly."

He sighed, apologizing, "I'm sorry for this, but I've been having a packed agenda."

"So have I… Busy hours you know. Don't blame me if I don't have your order ready."

"Are you the only one who works here? I don't see anyone else except for the guy at the register," Alfred said to him, taking a seat.

Gilbert eyed him. "Laurinaitis didn't tell you? I'm just a technician but I may as well be the only worker here—my employer works me to the ground."

Alfred shrugged. "He told me, but I was just asking."

"Do you know when she'll be back?" Toris asked.

"She's on an errand, but that'll take a while. Do you have business with me or her?"

"Just you, actually. You don't mind if I ask you for a favor, do you?"

Gilbert crossed his arms. "So you're not here for just the meds, huh? Sure I mind, but whatever."

Toris shrugged, trying his best to seem casual, even though the German's scrutinizing gaze made it difficult. "A small favor really. I have something from Visaillis to relay to your father. Can you help me with that?"

Gilbert stared at him for several seconds before snorting. "Now that's a lie. Really, Laurinaitis? Is that the best that you can come up with?"

Alfred looked severely annoyed with Gilbert before mumbling, "Toris, are you sure this guy's your friend?"

"What's so funny and why don't you believe me?"

Gilbert shook his head, his expression icing over. "You got yourself stuck in deep shit, didn't you?" He leaned over the counter, staring hard into Toris's eyes. "Some deep, dark shit—you know, the stuff you aren't supposed to mess with."

Toris backed up to put some space between them, bewildered by his sudden change of mood. "I'm not sure if I know what you're talking about."

"And you," Gilbert nodded towards Alfred, disregarding his denial. "Al, huh? Who are you really?"

"Hey." Toris grabbed the technician's shoulder. "Leave him out of this."

"You brought him here, so he's going to get involved. Deal with it."

"Gilbert, we just need to talk to your father. Why are you being more difficult than usual?"

Gilbert shrugged his hand off. "You haven't told me why yourself."

"I've been curious lately, and I think he's the only one who can answer the questions I have. You can get us connected, can't you?"

Gilbert shrugged again. "I can't help you, sorry."

Toris bit his lip and looked towards Alfred, feeling like he wasn't going to get anywhere, even if he pressed harder.

He turned back to Gilbert and tried again. "Please, this is important."

The German snorted, turning back around to face him. He took another step back as the room grew darker and colder in atmosphere, but Alfred didn't seem to notice what Toris was feeling. He saw the distinctive emotion of despair swirl in his friend's eyes.

"You… You don't understand what's important, Toris."

Toris shook his head, maintaining eye contact with him. "Tell me what happened, Gilbert."

"You can't talk with my father—"

"Why is that?"

"—because he's _dead_."

**- - x – X – x - -**

_Finally an update. This so far, is the longest Lamentia chapter published and I have mixed feelings about it. Things are still a little bumpy irl, I'm packing and tossing, while learning how to drive on the side. I won't be updating to schedule like I used to, but I'm making progress and that's all I have to offer. Thank you all very much for being so patient with me : )_

_Now we know where Ivan's being kept, and we know that he has some company in his isolation. Though needless to say, I think he prefers to do without said company. Oh, and Gilbo's back, after eleven chapters!_

_(I wish had a journal available or something. Otherwise, I wouldn't have to rely on my author notes to record some of my personal thoughts haha… )_

_Thanks for reading and reviews are very much appreciated as always (Though I'm really sorry I haven't replied to any of the reviews for chapter 12 oTL ), writing gets ronery. _

_Love~_

_PS: "__Potseluy menya" –'kiss me' in Russian, I believe._


	14. Home

_**Title: **__Lamentia  
__**Author: **__Kaisre  
__**Rating: **__T  
__**Summary: **Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **Lithuania / Toris, Russia / Ivan, America / Alfred, Prussia / Gilbert_

* * *

**_- Lamentia -_**

**_- XIV -_**

* * *

"… He's _dead_." Gilbert bit his tongue when he finished, turning away from the pair to bother himself with a couple of loose papers.

Toris was at a loss of words, feeling like he had just stepped foot in dangerous territory. However, Alfred leaned in to scrutinize the other.

"Dead?"

Gilbert's eyes flashed as he glared at him for a single second. He gazed back down, seemingly absorbed into stuffing random papers into the wrong places. He took them out and tried again. "We were told it was a car accident, but they could never find out what caused him to crash on a rarely used rural road."

Toris tilted his head, his brow wrinkled. "You don't believe that, do you?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe," he snapped, slamming the counter drawer shut. "I've already answered your question—that's why you can't talk to him."

The brunette nervously twisted his hands together on top of his lap. "So then… You really don't know anything, do you?" He asked softly, uncomfortable with asking the other anything now.

Gilbert grunted and turned his back to him, twisting his elbows as he leaned against the counter. "I don't really know anything anymore." He grew silent for a moment, before murmuring. "… I'm not supposed to know anything."

Both Toris and Alfred waited for him to go on. Toris glanced towards Alfred to see if he had any idea about what to say, either to comfort the German or see if he could coax any more information from him.

Finally, the albino spoke up and the pair turned their attention back to him. "Al again, huh?" He turned back around to lay his eyes on the blonde. "You're not from around here, obviously—your accent's a knife in my ears. What did you say your business with Visaillis was again?"

Unsure of why he felt so uncomfortable, Toris bit his lip as Alfred answered him. "I guess I just work alongside Toris." He shrugged so casually, it surprised even the Lithuanian. "Maybe a little longer than he has, but not by much."

Gilbert dismissed whatever manners he had and studied Alfred with narrowed eyes. "There's something about you—"

Toris hastily looked back at Gilbert when he realized he had been staring at Al for the past minute. However, when his own eyes landed on the other, he felt his stomach lurch and his vision haze. Biting back a groan, he stopped himself from asking the technician what he had sprayed into the air.

Instead—"There's something else," Toris spilled, "Something's eating away at you." He covered his mouth and clenched his eyes shut—it didn't come out exactly like he thought it would.

From the corners of his reopened eyes, he saw Alfred's hand rise to his own shoulder. "Toris?"

He looked up at Gilbert, whose face told him he knew what just transpired.

Toris hastily excused himself and stood up. "I-I don't feel so well—I haven't been getting too much sleep lately."

Gilbert sat back, his red eyes glued to his. "Of course," he answered quietly.

Toris turned to Alfred and gazed down apologetically. "I'm sorry I made you drive all the way over here." He said to Gilbert, "Can you get my order done soon?"

Chewing his lip, the other nodded slowly, looking between the two. "Give me twenty-four hours."

"Thank you. I think we should get back, Al." He fingered the bandages on his hand—the four swollen crescents where Ivan's nails pierced his skin still stung when touched. Gilbert's brow twitched suspiciously when he noticed the wrappings, but he said nothing.

The two turned around to leave before Toris heard the scraping of a chair being pushed back.

"Toris, listen to me." It was the first time in a long time he heard the other call him by his first name. "You have to get that you can't save everyone. And you, Alfred," he said his name with such surprising certainty, "You got to be careful with what you're doing in this place."

"What—?" Alfred whirled around but Toris grabbed him by the arm.

"I'm sorry, Gilbert—sorry for everything. I shouldn't have said anything to you."

The German said nothing as Toris lead Alfred out of the store. Once outside, he let out a much-needed breath, finally free from the constricting atmosphere.

-x-X-x-

"_The sun's still high in the sky, Vanya, but it's hard to see through these tiny windows, yes?_"

Ivan pressed his head against the filthy concrete of the walls, his curved back facing the left corner of his cell. He shakily lifted his head to look at the golden sunlight filtering in through the slender windows. If only he could grab a beam for himself… To keep himself warm when Toris wasn't here. It was a poor substitute for the brunette's gentle embraces, but it was something.

"_But I'm right here. You can see me, can't you?_" A laugh.

"Shut up," Ivan mumbled, trying to keep his attention on the sunlight. He wanted to look at, to think about something that was real, not _this_. Every passing moment he spent with his terrible thoughts shoved him deeper into temptation.

"_I'm wounded…_" The figure stepped slowly towards him, and Ivan felt himself tremble. "_I could hold you if you'd like; I could comfort you if you'd let me…"_

"I am crazy because I can see you, but I am not stupid."

The figure kneeled before him and Ivan felt an invisible hand force his face to turn towards it. His tired eyes were held by green ones and he found himself trapped.

"_No, you're just beautiful in my eyes._"

He fought the temptation, but his body refused to listen to him. "Stop it."

"_It hurts me to see you like this…_" Faint hands reached up to cup his face. To his disgust, they were made of the same warmth and softness Toris possessed.

"You're not him—you can never be him."

He shook his head, soft brown locks swishing back and forth. "_Can you even tell the difference anymore? It's okay to feel what you feel, Ivan…_"

Ivan felt his eyes prickle—whether it be from fear or happiness, he didn't know. "Stop it—stop using his face. It's _his._" He forced himself to look at anything besides the horrible apparition. Thrusting his gaze downwards, he started picking at his own skin—his throat constricted when he noticed the dried blood that remained under the tips of his fingernails. Desperate for a distraction, he scratched at a throbbing green vein until his skin peeled and assumed tiny dots of red.

"_Please stop that, Ivan. You know I don't like it when you harm yourself._"

"You even sound like him," Ivan mumbled, "It's _his_ voice. You have no right…"

"_I have the right because you give me every right._"

Ivan slumped lower and lower until he was laying the hard floor. Being so used to his conditions, he no longer cringed when he had to press against the sickly bruises that dotted his ribs and hips. Painfully lethargic, he allowed his eyes to wander back to his thoughts. "Why do you always follow me so?"

The figure said nothing.

Ivan folded his arms over his head and sighed. "Would Toris be angry if I gave you his name as well?"

In his mind's eye, he imagined the brunette tilting his head in confusion, his perfect lips curving downwards just right in a little frown. "_What do you mean?_"

Ivan shook his head and rolled over onto his side, ignoring the pain pulsating from his abused torso. "I don't know either…" He replied, his voice calm and eerily relaxed. "He is never angry, not with me. He has never said a harsh word to me. He was always kind, and his voice… always soothing. Like…" His throat tightened again. "Him."

The figure listened and he continued.

"I hurt him, _them—_I hurt them both. Will Toris come back to talk to me again? His Russian is poor, but I would like to listen to him read…" He stared at his hands, picturing the Lithuanian's fingers interlacing with his, despite what they did to him. He clenched them shut.

"_You didn't mean to do it_."

"I didn't," he agreed, dropping his hands. He felt so _tired_. "But you don't know that. Perhaps Toris really is angry this time. Perhaps he will not come back." The thought was almost too painful to bear. He _needed_ to see him again. He could take all the world's pain into his body, and it would mean nothing to him if he could see the other.

The apparition scooted closer to him, laying gentle hands on his side. "_Don't say that_."

Ivan closed his eyes and allowed the sad imitation of warmth touch him. He pictured himself curled up in his old bed again, with Toris leaning over him to touch his lips to his forehead. He shivered in his thoughts, but grew warm again when those ghostly arms wrapped over his middle.

The sound of coffee mugs clinking against each other grew clear in his mind and Ivan found himself smiling. It was raining outside, but he was safe from the storm. He tapped the tea spoon against the rim of his cup, watching a drop of brown liquid sliding down the glazed ceramic. A crumbling biscuit was pressed to his mouth and he accepted the buttery sweetness with gratitude.

Closing his eyes, his tilted his chin upwards. He expected a soft and tender kiss. It came.

_Come back to me, __lyubimui_.

-x-X-x-

Only ten minutes had passed in the car before Alfred couldn't help but sneak furtive glances aimed at the other.

Toris was staring out the window, seemingly absorbed in counting each and every tree that flew by. He seemed unresponsive to his quick glances and Alfred found himself adjusting the intervals of time by mere seconds. However, realizing how obnoxious he was behaving, he tightly gripped the steering wheel and glued his eyes to what was in front of him and not what was besides him.

"I'm sorry I made you leave like that," the brunette finally spoke up, as if he were reflecting his own juvenile guilt. "We both felt that something wasn't right at all, but I couldn't handle it." He pressed his temples to the glass and started counting the white dashes on the road instead.

"How did he know?" He spoke the question he had been too nervous to ask sooner. He didn't know Toris could answer him, but he felt as if the other had an explanation for what took place at the drugstore. "He kept on looking at me, and I had a feeling… And then when he said that—" Alfred shook his head.

"Gilbert has his ways." His mouth twitched, but it didn't curve itself into more than half-a-grin. "I don't see him everyday like I see you, but he knows me, and I know him. I think on the day I first talked to him about Visailis and Ivan, he knew what I would do before I did myself. He's a smart guy and he tends to figure out things like that. When he noticed how much trust I put into you by taking you with me, he drew the connections. It's a bit of a stretch, but he got it right, didn't he?"

"Maybe," Alfred replied, "Even then, he didn't say it out loud—at least not completely, but the look in his eyes told me he knew. Maybe he doesn't know all of it, or at least I hope he doesn't—otherwise, I'm the worst person on this planet." Alfred looked towards him again and noticed a full smile had replaced his former one.

"Would you believe me if I told you have nothing to worry about when it comes to him?"

"Nah," he answered casually but honestly. "You're right though, there was something up about him, _and—_" he painfully stretched out the last word, "—you never told me you knew someone who had connections to Visailis."

The smile expired and Toris looked out of his own window again. "I didn't know him at all, but Gilbert mentioned him before… He talked about him a little bit, and then he told me that the facility tried to recruit him, but he decided to take up an apprenticeship instead."

"Is that all to it?"

Toris shrugged and adjusted his seatbelt just for the sake of using his hands. "Maybe it doesn't matter anymore—Gilbert said he's dead now, you heard him." He shook his head ruefully, looking tired. "And I brought it up just like that. I can be really insensitive, can't I?"

"No, far from it," Alfred said sternly, inwardly shocked at the comment. If it were possible, if there was one person in a world like this who was free of insensitivity it'd be… "Toris, listen you—I don't know much about this guy, but I know you had no idea in the first place. Sure, maybe you brought it up, be he reacted sort of over-the-top, didn't he? I'm not trying to be nice, but…"

Toris seemed curiously surprised at his comment and Alfred got a good look at him—his viridian eyes were clear, but they were much too old his age. He knew he wasn't alone when he saw how Toris shared the same eyes with the young man from the photographs—Ivan noticed this as well. He knew better than to draw conclusions between the two, but the similarity was almost eerie.

Before, he had always thought the two to be identical, but each possessing different windows to their souls. Frozen in pigment, Liet had a kind face but there was a haunting quality to his eyes—eyes that possessed years of scars and wisdom alike. Toris's windows were clearer, almost without blemish—but it always seemed like half of his attention was focused on something else, something that no one else could see. Alfred watched him every time they met, every time they talked, and this subtle quality grew evident to him. Like Liet's, his eyes possessed an earthly sort of wisdom that intrigued even him.

But no matter the similarities, Toris had something that Liet did not. Something that maybe Ivan…

He chewed his tongue and forced himself to stop his speculation.

Why he was studying this man so deeply, he had no idea.

Toris had captured his interest from the start. He was naïve and experienced, shy and brave, quiet and determined.

_But who are you really?_

It seemed that the people he met confound him to no end. These people confused him and he couldn't understand their ways no matter how hard he tried. Alienated, alone— Alfred did not like the feeling of isolation. _They_ had played on his emotions, his ideas, and his morals—they took him from the home he loved most, and now he was alone in the open, waiting for the worst to happen. That was his job, the one face of his duty that Toris, the only man who trusted him, was not aware of.

Or perhaps… Toris was perfectly aware of him and neither of them knew it. His task at Visailis could not be accomplished without the other, and now the Russian was gradually integrating himself into the asylum's web and history.

Alfred realized how horrible of a position he had placed himself in. His success depended on Toris, who in turn depended on the Russian, Ivan. Alfred sighed inwardly as he gazed off distantly in the road. He trusted the Lithuanian—they made a deal, and Toris sealed it with the sincerity of his nature. He couldn't cheat the American, even if he tried—it was just not like him.

However, if either of them were to deviate from his original plans, everything the two of them fought for would fall apart.

"What are you thinking about?"

"'Don't even know anymore…" He cracked a smile and wiped his head clear of thoughts, as if he were afraid the other would be more than able to read him like an open book. "Except, I _have_ been thinking about taking another trip."

Toris's hands twisted with one another. "To Russia?"

Alfred shook his head. "It'll be in the country this time. I want to stop by Vilnius and Kaunas."

Toris seemed distracted when he looked away and back out the window. "Ah…" was all he said.

Concerned by his lack of interest, he asked, "Uhm, do you approve?"

"Approve? Well, it's not really up to me it?"

"No, I guess it isn't—but what do you think?"

Alfred spared him a few glances as he slowly nodded his head thoughtfully. "Are you going to do the same thing there like you did at Moscow?"

"Yeah…" Alfred remembered identifying himself as a reporter and listening to the tearful sister's account. He listened to her story in severely broken English—it took him a few polite tries before he received all the details he had been looking for. It then took all of his efforts to persuade the woman to lend him copies of her old photographs, but he remembered there was an odd sort of detachment in the movement of her hands when she handed the precious items over.

"_I hope… I hope you understand? Understand vhat you are doing…"_

In the end, he faced a trio of sleepless nights after that, mulling over his decision to withhold the truth.

He had lied to Toris—he never had a good reason to keep Ivan Braginsky's existence secret.

-x-X-x-

Toris didn't question him any further as he stared down at his own fingers idly. His afflicted hand remained relatively useless and sore as he flexed his thumb.

He snuck another glance towards the other despite himself, but Alfred seemed to be too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice. He proposed so casually that Toris was beginning to wonder if Alfred had any idea that Kaunas was his home city. Perhaps if he were ignorant of his origins, it would be simpler for him to just sit there and listen if the blonde had anything else to say.

It hadn't even been a year, but he felt a hollow pit of longing settle in his stomach at the word of it. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the seat belt as he thought about his old home and his former university. He had no intention to leave his "home" here, but the mention of the old city renewed he longing.

However, it wasn't his typical yearning that bothered him the most, but the fact that he knew that there was nothing waiting for him there—nothing besides the childhood fear ghosts and the occasional picnic at the graveyards filled with generations of the dead.

He swallowed thickly, inwardly scolding himself for letting his own thoughts stray an inch out of line.

He couldn't deny that he wasn't naturally inclined to his home, but he knew only a fearful nostalgia and distant loneliness would await him if he were to return—a loneliness he deeply felt was not his own.

-x-X-x-

Another vapid week passed by without much event concerning him. Toris crunched his teeth together as he measured the countless cup of bleach for the mass of laundry he had been left to deal with.

Alfred was away, just like he promised, and he was left to perform his meaningless duties to keep his superiors happy. Without the other, there was no way to receive any news or updates about Ivan. He even tried to open his ears and listen for any word about he Russian among his colleagues, but he never found anything that really mattered.

The nature of his departure from the filthy cells ate away at him, even after the shallow wounds on his hand closed up. The bruises remained as a reminder, but they ceased to hinder his daily activities and basic functions. He knew what happened the other week was unable to be helped, that there was nothing he could have done to help that. He had avoided major trouble by seconds—he had avoided letting Alfred down by _seconds_, and he wasn't foolish enough to ignore how lucky he had been.

Even so, the guilt in those violet depths haunted his every waking moment. He wanted to see Ivan, even more so that he was almost crumbling under the weight of his worry and concern for him.

Toris sighed and carelessly wiped his hands on a nearby rag, greasy from the starch and soap. He shut the lid to the first load and was just about to reach for another when someone knocked. He turned around, and found himself facing someone who seemed vaguely familiar to him. The face gave him no name in mind—perhaps this person was only another one of his remaining coworkers he happened to pass by on many occasions.

"You're Toris Laurinaitis, right?"

Toris glanced down at his own badge that he constantly wore around his neck. His name seemed obvious enough, but he still replied politely in his usual manner.

"Yes, I'm Toris. Do you need me for anything?"

The man eyed him as if he didn't believe he had found who he was looking for. "For the first period of your employment, you were put in charge of the care and supervision of patient 212, yes?"

Toris tilted his head and asked without thinking about it thoroughly, "Patient 212?"

The man looked even more skeptical. "Patient 212 who goes by the name of Ivan Braginsky."

Toris almost slapped himself as his back considerably straightened in fresh attentiveness. Of course it must have been Ivan's assigned number, though the digits didn't prove to be familiar to him—he only referred to the Russian by name, and come to think of it, so did Alfred. "I- yes, that's right."

The worker motioned for him to follow him as he continued on with a disdainful lack of interest in whether Toris was paying him any mind or not. "Braginsky doesn't seem to be cooperating of his own will, no matter what the measures the doctors have been taking. Even with sedation, he continues to make the same request." He looked over his shoulder, scrutinizing him with cold eyes and an arched brow. "Can you imagine what?"

Toris frowned at the question. He had a vague idea, but he kept silent and only shook his head.

"'Toris'," he answered for him, his tone snide as if he were merely pointing out the obvious. "It seems that not everyone knew who you were, so it took a while before they figured out that the patient was asking for his old caretaker."

"Oh… Well I had no idea…" Toris mumbled. "What is it that you want from me exactly?"

The man turned back around. "We assume that the patient has grown attached to you, especially since he was the only one placed under your care. We want you to prove your competence and persuade the patient to receive his treatment without protest. We're fulfilling a request of his, so we expect compliance from him in return."

Toris clenched his fists and glared at the back of the man's white coat. "What treatment? He might not understand… understand that you're responsible for my appearance."

"I'm not—" he said curtly and stopped before the familiar door that Toris had avoided several days earlier. He showed his badge to the guards, who allowed the door to open for them. He nodded to a pair of similarly-dressed workers who seemed to be waiting for Toris as he stepped in. The other worker remained outside. "—They are."

-x-X-x-

Alfred walked along the desolate path, pulling his blazer tighter around himself to ward off the autumn cold. A light mist had descended upon the deserted park, and the lamps remained lit despite it being well into the morning.

Completing his second lap around the park, Alfred stopped before an old tree—the first landmark that the local police had willingly lead him to. He pressed his hand to the cold and slightly damp bark, craning his head to squint at the flowing and twisted branches. He was never one to be interested in objects such as trees, but the dryad's outstretched arms possessed an unearthly feeling to it.

"So, this was the site of the murder, huh?"

_It was early morning when they finally stopped outside of a park devoid of any life besides the trees and frosted grass. Alfred shivered and exhaled when he stepped out of the car, following the officer to the base of one of the many trees._

"_I believe it was this one…"_

_Alfred stared at the trunk, half-expecting to find dark blood stains among the bark. He found none._

"_This one?"_

"_Ya'… The memory is fresh in my mind. This property is no good to the public—many men choose to drink and let themselves go on this very ground. I say it could be cursed if I didn't know better."_

"_What did you find here?"_

_The officer shrugged, staring off somewhere else. "I don't know. I'm not allowed to disclose that information under these circumstances, unfortunately."_

_The American's mouth twitched in annoyance. Well, he may as well complete this part on his own as well._

"_I understand. Thank you—this'll make a nice article."_

The gnarled branches seemed insignificant on their own, but it was one particular limb that caught his eye.

The branch was slightly thicker than the others, though it remained relatively closer to the ground as well—close enough for Alfred to see a distinct, black scar wrapped around its middle. The mark was carved into the finer bark of the branch, as if a great deal of pressure had been dealt into it without actually shattering the branch itself. Required to write down every strange thing he found about the park and its inanimate inhabitants, Alfred skipped over the writing part and mentally recorded the slight oddity with inverted exasperation. He then looked down, unsurprised to see several shards of glass surrounding his soles—he was probably standing on the pieces as well.

The park was littered with broken bottles and splintered wood from lightning-struck trees, signs of neglect from the city and its people. It was no wonder that rarely anyone in their right mind would visit the park, not even in broad daylight. Even at night, only drunks found their way to this place, unaware of the actual world around them.

Kneeling down, he pinched several samples of the gravel for himself, deciding that he better leave the boring examination and analysis to his fellow colleagues. Sealing the tiny bags when he was done, Alfred found himself a bench to sit down and warm up. The fog and silhouettes of trees made him uncomfortable, but he resumed his survey half-heartedly, even without a Toris to vent and complain to.

-x-X-x-

The door slid shut and Toris found himself feeling oddly claustrophobic and vulnerable as he began to walk between the rows of iron bars that were rusty from neglect. He spared Ivan a single glance, genuinely worried about the other accidentally pointing him out. Ivan was not looking at him, or anyone else for that matter. He swallowed his inkling fear and accepted the hand that was extended towards him.

"Dr. Pavarde," he introduced himself briskly as he shook his hand with a disconcerting sense of absoluteness. "You are the Toris Laurinaitis we requested, yes?"

Toris nodded, unsure of what to say without sounding redundant.

The doctor seemed unconcerned as he continued, "Despite your rank, or experience more accurately, we heard that you were able to work with this particular patient with very few-to-no difficulties."

Toris shifted uncomfortably. It took most of his willpower not to stare at Ivan until he finally noticed him. "I… well, I suppose that is true, I guess. After the first week…" He bit his tongue and shook his head. "Yes, it's true."

Pavarde seemed to deliberately ignore his odd blunder, as if he was judging and characterizing Toris by what was written down about him, and not what he saw before himself. He saw a young man who was able to reach a nearly impossible patient with what appeared to be little effort compared to the others. He did not see an increasingly awkward intern who found the environment highly unsuited for acquaintance.

"I suppose it would be safe to assume that much of your luck with this patient was due to the experience prior to gaining your job. We have no reports of any deviation from the standard agenda that was put together for your use, which would suggest that you have a well-developed insight or unexploited skill for treating the mentally ill."

Toris nodded slowly, looking towards Ivan once again. The door was unlocked and opened just a sliver. "To be sincere, I don't think I can be the judge of whatever skill I might have—I thank you though."

"There's nothing to thank me for," Pavarde replied, waving a hand. He noticed Toris's furtive glances and nodded to Ivan. "He's an utter mess, isn't he?"

Toris pressed his lips in a grim line to prevent himself from spatting out a retort. _I wonder who's to blame for that_. He looked past Pavarde at the second doctor, or worker, wondering why he hadn't introduced himself yet. The slow preparation of two syringes filled with a clear liquid—probably, or hopefully medicine—answered his question.

Pavarde went on despite the lack of a response from Toris. "Don't worry, we're determined to prevent your efforts from going to waste. This is why we have called you here—we need to make use of your former relationship with this patient so we can continue his treatment without difficulty."

The lines in his face grew harsher as Toris approached the cell door slowly, careful not to disturb the other if he was even aware of his surroundings. He wrapped his hands around a pair of bars, leaning in.

Pavarde remained silent, and his assistant stopped what he was doing—both focused intently on Toris. Neither made a move to stop his advancement.

For a few drawn-out seconds, Toris gazed down upon him before softly speaking out.

"_Privyet_, Ivan."

Ivan slowly looked up from his crumpled position on the floor. The defeated look in his weary eyes jerked harshly at Toris's heart. A half-smile pulled slightly at his grey lips. "_Privyet,_ Toris," he echoed in equally soft tones.

The doctor's excited comment drew Toris's attention away from him for just a second, but it was enough for him to catch, "He _recognizes _you."

Toris narrowed his eyes but tried his best to keep his voice mild. "Would he normally not recognize me? He _was_ under my carefor the majority of my time at this facility." He didn't wait for the doctor's answer as he turned back to Ivan. Kneeling down to the floor, Toris extended his hand through the bars, stretching his fingers to as far as they could reach.

Ivan made a move to return the gesture, but stopped his hand inches from the other's. He seemed uncertain about something. "…'Is healed?"

Toris coaxed him gently and relaxed the muscles in his arm. "It's healed," he confirmed, nodding slightly.

That seemed satisfactory to Ivan as he finally touched his fingertips to the spaces between the Lithuanian's slender fingers. He eyes seemed to be focused solely on their intertwining fingers—he paid no attention to the pair that watched them both with fascination.

Rubbing his thumb to the Russian's hand, Toris nudged the door open. Ivan jerked, but he didn't tear away or openly protest.

"Would it be all right if I came in, Ivan?" Toris began to wonder how long it must have been since anyone referred to him by name to his face.

Ivan said nothing, but he showed no signs of discomfort or objection when Toris slowly inched himself in. He did, however, stiffen up significantly when the nameless assistant approached them both with one of the prepared syringes. Toris stopped him.

"May I ask what that is for?"

The man frowned, looking at Toris as if he had just asked him to elucidate the obvious. "It's a sedative—this patient has a history of many violent instances, where—"

"There's no need for that," Toris asserted firmly.

The assistant didn't seem to agree with him at all, but he turned to look back at Pavarde for instruction. The doctor only shrugged and shook his head. Suddenly peeved, the man glared at Toris before retreating to put the sedative back.

Toris took his time and gently squeezed Ivan's hand reassuringly. He could tell Ivan wanted, _needed_ to tell him something, but remained silent.

With masked impatience, the doctor spoke and broke the brief stretch of silence. "I believe he needs another session with you, a familiar attendant."

Toris nodded and replied without breaking eye contact with Ivan. "I think it would be better if we were given a separate room for that."

Pavarde thought about this. "We can do that."

Far from satisfied, Toris made another request, "I'd also think it would be better for his overall health if he could be returned to his room to stay."

Pavarde wasn't so quick to grant approval. He hummed, feigning deep thought. "I don't believe that would be the best idea. You see, it would be easier and safer to administer his medicine—"

"Medicine?"

"Yes, an experimental drug that's been used to suppress and treat his delusions. Of course, it has been approved by the patient himself a few years ago when he was still in a lucid state. And now for more recent occasions, his established family members have approved of the treatment for him."

Toris bit his lip and clenched his eyes shut for a moment, feeling disgusted with the blatant dishonesty. _It's because they believe he's dead_. _If they knew… They'd stop it_. Bitter, he began to wonder again why Alfred had decided to keep Ivan a secret from his own family.

"He can take it orally, can't he? I've made sure he took his medication in the past, I can do the same now."

"He requires more serious treatment due to his worsened condition…" Toris pressed their hands to his middle, waiting for the other to continue. "But I will consider it. Until then, I suppose we'll have to postpone the session we had planned for the two of you."

"Alright…" Toris settled, deciding that it wouldn't be smart to push his limits. His gaze rested back on Ivan as he heard the other two walk away.

"The two of us are needed elsewhere—the door will lock automatically upon closure, but the guards will be expecting you out of here anytime now."

Toris nodded again to show that he had understood, and he was left alone. Crouching before him in silence, Toris threaded his fingers through his ashen hair without saying a word.

Knowing that they were alone no, Ivan visibly loosened and relaxed his body, allowing himself to slump forward.

"He… He will not leave me alone," Ivan whispered, his voice husky from lack of use.

"The doctor?" Toris asked. "I'm sure he will leave soon—"

"Not him." Ivan shook his head as Toris waited for him to elaborate. "'Is not him…"

"Ah… I see," Toris said, though he didn't see what Ivan meant at all. The larger man groaned softly as he leaned against him. Toris detected a faint tremor within the Russian.

"Don't… Don't be angry with me, Toris. Please, I could not help it—I _swear_."

He was about to ask him what he meant with his apology, but thought better of it. He only pressed a soft kiss to his bangs and reassured him gently, "You know I can never be angry with you, Ivan."

Ivan shook his head again, seeming unconvinced. "You have been very kind to me, but I have hurt you, Toris… I've betrayed you."

"I… I don't know what you're talking about, but you haven't wronged me."

Ivan tilted his head and took Toris's injured hand, lifting it up to press to his own cheek. He murmured something inaudible and lowered the hand again. "You must go, yes? They are already suspicious of you, Toris—I know you will come back, though."

Toris blinked, frowning. He stood up and straightened his back while Ivan still held on to his hand, looking up at him. "How do you—?"

A broken smile cracked his lips, but it was of genuine amusement. "They call me crazy, _da_, and sometimes I am _preoccupied_, but I am not ignorant, _lyubimui_."

**- - x – X – x - -**

_I owe everyone a big apology :( I didn't mean to scare anyone with the lack of an update in months—obviously, this story has not been dropped and will be continued : )_

_I still wish would adopt some sort of journal system where authors can post updates about their own status, especially since doesn't allow you to publish "journal" or "AN" chapters within fanfiction. _

_Anyways, the reason I haven't updated in a very long time was due to my fluctuating workload. I'm just a sophomore, but I was nearly overwhelmed with work near the beginning of the school year. I'm doing better now. I hope that I'll be back on a regular schedule. Most likely, it won't be every two weeks, but it won't be every 2-3 months either x_x We'll see what happens._

_Thank you everyone for being so patient with me. I appreciate all the support!_

_Love_


	15. Tree of the World

_**Title: **__Lamentia  
__**Author: **__Kaisre  
__**Rating: **__T  
__**Summary: **Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **Lithuania / Toris, Russia / Ivan_

* * *

**_- Lamentia -_**

**_- XV -_**

* * *

He was sitting on the same old bench, observing the same streets filled with cars and people—people who remained largely unaware of the world outside their realm and individual interests.

Ivan checked the time and leaned his head against the armrest of the old bench, seemingly careless of his posture in public display. He looked to his side and began to count the buds of a petite seedling. Two springs ago, he would have never noticed it, but the plant was growing, and it was going strong despite the damp and frigid air. Ivan found no trouble in accepting the fact that a delicate twig had more will to stay upright than he had. There were much more seemingly-delicate objects he knew of that deserved more recognition than him, especially one object in particular—a weathered, yet somehow fragile interest of his. He drew curious glances from passing strangers as he reached out to rub the waxy buds between his fingers, thinking of absolutely nothing.

"Ivan?"

Ivan drew his hand away and put great effort into straightening his back to receive his company. He managed a smile and allowed his hair to be touched and caressed by those familiar fingers.

"Liet." He said it gently, as if he were afraid of breaking something equally delicate.

Liet shivered and rubbed his arms as he took a seat besides Ivan, seemingly unconcerned of his lethargy. Ivan guessed the other must've been used to it by now—it made him feel guilty.

"It's really cold, isn't it? I'm sorry for the wait, Ivan—" he exhaled and released a cloud of breath "—maybe you should have waited for me back home."

"I'd wait for you anywhere, yes?" Ivan mumbled under his breath. He took Liet against himself and he stopped shivering, sitting still as if he were waiting for the Russian to speak. "Russia is much colder, Love."

"Yes, maybe, but not Moscow." Liet flashed him that soft smile of his. With his face up closer to his, Ivan noticed dark hollows under those green eyes. The smile disappeared before they even reached his eyes and Ivan's heart fell.

"Lyu… Liet?"

"Yes?"

Ivan fumbled and looked away from the one he loved most. He wanted to ask, he wanted speak up for once and say how it wasn't fair… to either of them. His gaze focused on the seedling more than what was necessary as Liet followed his eyes. They both watched as a dewdrop fell from the blunt tip of a bud, winking at Ivan alone.

He then suddenly grasped Liet's cold hand and stood up slowly.

_Love._

_Tell me._

_Tell me, how much longer this must go on—_

"Will you walk with me?"

Liet nodded and much willingly followed the other as he lead the way along a paved path. Ten steps later, he found him at his side.

"Trees are… nice," Ivan found himself saying out loud without paying attention to how odd it sounded. Liet looked up at him and he squeezed his hand even tighter. "…Do you think it'll make it?"

Liet tilted his head in mild bewilderment, but he answered his question without faltering. "I believe it will. Trees are strong, aren't they?"

"The strongest things I've seen," Ivan whispered, letting his fingers wander to Liet's bangs.

The path turned more worn and neglected as they progressed further along it. Ivan found himself at a familiar setting of the old park that laid outside of the bustle of city activity, hidden from all but the lowest beings of society. Weeping willows towered over them from the sides with their branches drooping downward to touch the ground. True to their name, Ivan found a alien sort of forlornness enter his heart at the sight of such miserable-looking guardians. Rooted amongst forgotten ground, their shadows rustled in the wind without saying anything more than what was expected of old trees.

Liet tripped over a charred branch of a fallen tree and Ivan caught him. Two pairs of eyes lingered on the burnt wooden corpse, following the curves and licks of its charcoal-black scars.

Ivan took Liet's hand again and they continued onward.

It was true that the people of an older era believed in the tree of the World that supported the very sky with her coiled arms and endless knit work of ancient wood and young leaves. Life would linger amongst the branches as a jealous vice gnawed away at the roots. It was inevitable that time would eat away at her and even the strongest kind of fidelity and loyalty could not save her from the long winter that was to come.

Winter was upon them now and Ivan stopped in his tracks. Liet stopped with him and Ivan seized the collection of his love tightly within his arms. Unable to control the overwhelming sensation coming over him, Ivan whispered his disheveled thoughts into his ear.

Liet hid his face in his broad chest, refusing to look at him. Despite this refusal, the rest of his body remained relaxed and perfectly fitted against his, as if it found home and comfort in resting against him.

They stood there, swaying slowly as if moved by an invisible wind, just like the branches of the willows.

Finally, Liet whispered, keeping his voice low, "If a tree could hold up the sky… Do you think a single branch could hold me… me and everything I carried?"

_What?_

No—no, that wasn't right. This wasn't right. It was like there was a crack, a _flaw_, in the film that was playing before him. Ivan stared straight ahead and searched his memories for this. Liet never said this in his waking memory. These words proved to be unfamiliar to him, but Liet was in his arms—he was real, and his words were real.

Months in confinement had trained him to sit back and watch as his life replayed itself within his mind. Months in confinement had trained him to find solace and comfort in the ghosts of embraces that seemed to be more than real to him. Months in confinement had trained him to accept everything as a sort of self-inflicted punishment—one of relief.

But his world was cracking for the second time and he was able to see it chip away at the edges.

Liet finally looked up at him with glassy eyes—eyes full of emotion that Ivan could never understand in his state of internal turmoil.

"If I was the pillar that held up your sky…" Liet closed his eyes and his skin turned pale.

Ivan grasped him tighter—as tight as he could, afraid to let go or even loosen his grip in the slightest.

"You _were_ my pillar, my sky, my everything—" _Please let it be different this time, please, please, please—_

He buried his face in the curtain of brown hair, clinging onto him with all his might and desperation. He thought of happier times, of love and promises, of warmth and laughter. He thought and thought as if pleasant dreams could replace reality… He thought until that warmth turned into cold ashes within his very embrace. Smooth hair turned to strings of ashes between his fingers as the soft face resting against him crumbled to dust, leaving him alone and his arms wrapped around nothing.

Nothing at all.

-x-X-x-

Ivan tore himself from his sleep and almost fell out of his bed without finding it odd that he even had a bed at all.

White walls and sunlight caused his eyes to burn, opposing the gray cement and dreary conditions he was used to.

Either way, there were no more trees, no more willows except maybe—

"_Toris_…" He rasped and called for the first name that relieved him of his lingering dream.

To his surprise and immense gratitude, the owner of that particular name was there to attend him, and he was by his side in an instant. Ivan groaned and allowed his weight to slump against him.

"Ivan," Toris responded and supported him without protest and discomfort. He immediately said to him, as if he could read his worries, "It was just a dream…"

Ivan rubbed his fingers together, feeling a dry ashy texture. Alarmed, he looked down, but his hands were the same pale color they've always been. He turned his hands over and then flipped them back. Frowning, Toris grasped them and allowed his free hand to rest on Ivan's neck.

"It's all right," he soothed, "I've got you and no one else is here."

Ivan looked up at him and for a moment, considered the horrible possibility that the man from his dream was not who he thought—

"I can trust Toris, yes?" he asked quietly, uncertainly. He already trusted Toris with whatever will he had left and consequently, it was Toris who inspired such will within him. Without waiting for the other to reply, Ivan clung to his front and hid his face. "He won't leave me alone—he will _never_ leave me alone."

Toris remained still with his ambiguity but raised a hand to tenderly stroke his hair, comforting him. "He can't get you here, Ivan. I would never let him."

Ivan vehemently shook his head, rubbing it against Toris's chest. "He… He…"

_He hates you, Toris._

Toris gently pulled away from him and laid his hands on his shoulders, staring at him in the eyes. "Can you tell me something, Ivan?"

Ivan bit his lip and sucked at it nervously, nodding.

Tucking his own bangs behind his eyes, Toris gestured lightly at his face. "Do you see him now?"

Afraid of what Toris was looking for in him, Ivan averted his gaze and gave him no answer.

The Lithuanian's face softened in sadness he felt for the other as he tucked his head under his chin. He closed his eyes and pictured the photo that stood out from his memories—far more than the rest of what Alfred had given him. Liet was looking straight at the camera, his eyes bright from the happiness the rest of his face had expressed. Ivan, however, paid no attention to the camera and only had eyes for the embodiment of his happiness who was placed comfortably within his arms. Even in just flat ink, the gratitude and admiration was clear in his smile and thistle orbs.

Ivan loved the man dearly and Toris felt that this lost affection was infecting even him. As if possessing a paternal instinct—or perhaps, something more—thinking of the Russian placed in his care soothed his worries, if those worries weren't aimed at him in the first place.

This love he saw also made him feel uneasy. It made his stomach ache with a sort of emotion that he could not place his finger on; an emotion he was unfamiliar with. He wrapped his arms around Ivan and hugged him tightly as if he was letting out some of his frustration and Ivan returned the embrace with equal exertion.

"Did you love him?"

Ivan deliberated upon this question for several minutes and Toris was about to let it go when he finally answered in the smallest of whispers, "Yes."

Toris accepted his laconic answer and offered him no more questions. He allowed his chin to rest on top of the other's head as he counted the seconds that ticked by. He wanted nothing more than to uphold this sphere of repose for Ivan and keep him away from the others' greed. The last thing he wanted was this man's exploitation.

His superiors still expected him to exploit Ivan as if he were a mere object to be exploited for their own gain. For what gain, Toris was not so clear on. He was less than willing to comply with his given objectives. Of course, if he were to refuse, Ivan would be taken out of his care once again and he, along with the absent Alfred, would be stuck in stalemate.

Taken by surprise, Toris was brought forth from his worrisome thoughts when a calloused thumb pressed against his brow. Ivan wasn't looking at him, but he massaged his brow until it smoothed and leveled down.

"Toris is always having that expression…" Ivan mumbled with a hint of good-natured disapproval. "You are too kind to grow old."

Despite his situation, Toris found himself beaming at the other's perception. He took Ivan's thumb from his forehead and kissed it in appreciation. "I'm sorry; I can't help it."

Ivan hummed and slid down into his lap, appearing more relaxed than he was moments ago. "Toris is forgiven," he replied simply, settling down where he was as he appeared peaceful.

Toris smiled again and closed his eyes, leaning over the other. The world could wait.

-x-X-x-

It was another late night when Toris made it home that evening. The air was cold, like it always was during these sorts of nights, but it was a pleasant sort of coldness… It reminded him of…

Toris shrugged and unlocked his door, heaving it open to reveal a faint scent of popery. Switching on the lights, he hung his coat over the nearest chair. Shivering, he made his way to the air conditioning and figured he must have forgotten to time it this morning. He shivered again, but the cold did not turn unpleasant. It made him feel grateful for his den and he felt the need to brew himself a cup of coffee to provide himself at least a cupful of warmth. However, Toris was intent on getting some sleep tonight—there was no need to stay up when work was light… at least for now.

Company sounded much better, but Toris was never one for company, especially at this time of the day. He wanted warmth all the same though. Ideally, laying in bed while sharing a single blanket with… with…

Toris sighed inwardly, almost in dejection, as he entered the bathroom to clean himself up. As he brushed and rinsed repeatedly, he had nothing to look at but his own worn-out expression in the mirror.

After finishing up and drying his mouth, Toris resumed staring at the mirror as if his own appearance suddenly triggered a string of thoughts. He touched a finger to the glass and traced the contour of his features, recalling the one photo within his mind. There was no doubt that they were alike, but Toris knew himself to be different, and he would not forget.

_I sincerely wonder…_

…_If you would have particularly liked me. Would you like the man who looked just like you and perhaps even… even… cared about the same man as you?_

Toris swallowed. He did not taste mint.

"He loved you," Toris murmured out loud, "So then why…?"

There was a sharp rap on the door and Toris almost fell over. He caught himself against the bathroom wall before steadying himself. Walking into the living room of his apartment, Toris found himself taking silent steps as if he were afraid of whoever was waiting for him outside. He almost forgot that it was close to midnight.

He checked through the cracks in the blinds and who he saw made his chest constrict as a feeling of forebodingness fell over him like a heavy shadow.

He unlocked the door and opened it, letting the cold air wash over him and mix in with his dreadful anticipation.

Red eyes met with his and a pale hand rose in a careless wave.

"_Hallo_, Toris."

**- - x – X – x - -**

_A very short chapter but I hope you guys enjoyed it : ) I hope orz_

_Random fact: I drove a car last week for the first time and didn't die. In a week I also have finals fml : (_


	16. Revelations

_**Title: **__Lamentia  
__**Author: **__Kaisre  
__**Rating: **__T  
__**Summary: **Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian._

_**Characters: **Lithuania / Toris, Russia / Ivan, Prussia / Gilbert_

* * *

**_- Lamentia -_**

**_- XVI -_**

* * *

To be quite honest with himself, Toris did not know if it was particularly good or bad that Gilbert was on his doorstop, shivering with a rather peeved expression on his face. Exhausted in more than one way, Toris was unsure of himself on what to do with his disheveled-looking companion. He didn't know whether he should demand why the other was bothering him at this time of night, or act worried.

He certainly was feeling a bit worried, however.

"For God's sake, hurry up and let me in—it's _freezing!_" His imploring seemed to finally gain a reaction from Toris as he opened the door wider, inviting the German into the warm apartment.

Gilbert whipped off his scarf and coat, dumping the garments unceremoniously on Toris's nearest piece of furniture. He ignored the other's dumbfounded expression as he rubbed his arms for extra warmth and made his way into the kitchen without invitation.

Snapping out of it, Toris followed him, asking sharply, "What are you doing?" With disapproval and helplessness, the Lithuanian watched as his old friend went through his cabinets and ripped a portion of bread as he did so. Gilbert ravaged the refrigerator, and remaining cabinets and cupboards before sparing a minute to answer his question.

"Being safe." He took a large bite from the bread.

"No," Toris contradicted in exasperation, "you're eating my—_what_ are you even doing here?"

Despite the impatience that swelled within him, the scene was a rather appropriate summary of their overall relationship, or rather the relationship they had in the past.

"After all the trouble I took to pay you a visit this late, you better be damn grateful," Gilbert growled, finishing the food with gusto.

Toris sighed his usual sigh as he leaned against the nearest counter, relenting to prevent further desecration of his kitchen and its contents. "Sit down somewhere, Gilbert… Do you want coffee?"

"It's too late for coffee…" Gilbert thought about this and shrugged, "but whatever—I'm going to keep you up for a while but hurry up with it."

Toris set the coffee maker up before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table from Gilbert. The two young men stared at each other for a measured stretch of time before Toris decided to be the first to speak.

"What is it that you want?"

Gilbert frowned and folded his arms against the edge of the table, leaning closer towards him. He studied him with his fairly intimidating eyes, speaking, "I think you know, Toris, that this isn't about me. When is it ever about me?"

The use of his first name made Toris's arms and neck tingle unpleasantly but he listened to what the other had to say.

Gilbert looked down and picked at an indent in the table, thinking deeply. He bit his tongue and chewed as he considered the question that hung upon it. "When you came to see me for your medication with that one guy, did it happen again?"

Toris frowned. He immediately did not like where this was going, but he felt that he owed it to his friend to answer honestly. "It did, but was it obvious?"

"Maybe, maybe not, but obviously your American 'co-worker' didn't know what was going on. Did you ever tell him…?"

Toris shook his head.

Gilbert frowned, "And you never told _me _what exactly you—"

Toris cut across him. "It's not… It's not…" He stopped, trying to find the right words. "It's not as extraordinary as you think—it's only a _feeling_ I get."

"A feeling you get that makes your sick every time you look at me?" There was a sort of bitter humor in his tone of voice.

Toris shook his head. It was much too late for any sort of conversation with his mildly snide friend. "I don't, you're just exaggerating."

"'I see the suffering of others' is what you told me a few years ago. We've sort of came a long way, Toris, but that's what I remember."

"Of course I meant it figuratively. You don't _mean_ that I could honestly… honestly…" He stuttered and shook his head vehemently. "You can't read human emotion like it's a hanging sign, Gilbert—I certainly can't." Toris closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the ridges of his intertwined hands, ignoring his guest for a moment. He recalled his many childhood visits to the local cemetery, the many trembling hands that he had touched and taken within his own, the soft and tempered words that he would say to those who wanted to listen—all in his own childish and innocent attempts to dispel the horrible feeling that would infect his own being.

"_Why are you here, Laurinaitis?"_

"_I want to stop it—I want to help people. I know I can't help everyone, but I want to do what I can."_

His worries quelled and settled down during his median years, but once he left the security of his old home, he was reminded that such perception and perspicacity would not leave him so easily. The young man sitting before him was a personification of such a reminder. Toris was certain that he was the only one who bothered to look beneath Gilbert's unrefined exterior and see the poignancy of his character—he didn't know if Gilbert appreciated or hated him for it. At times he was almost sure that it was the latter.

"…Was I the only one you told?" Gilbert asked quietly. The room grew silent in response before Toris answered him himself.

He nodded his head. "Yes, and I never had the intention of telling you… But you wanted an explanation back then, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. You were weird when we first met… really useful too. Anyway, you always had me thinking… Thinking about why you said the things you said, and why you acted the way you acted. Sometimes you scared me, Toris and sometimes you still do."

Toris almost smiled with an ounce of amusement. "You were quite intimidating, and you still are."

He smirked. "Now?"

"Maybe a little bit," Toris admitted lightly. "I know you always tried to scare me, even after I told you about the things I felt. No matter how much it bothered me, you never let it go."

Gilbert didn't seem to mind that Toris was touching upon his insensitivity, but he didn't ignore the comment. "You're probably right. It does remind me though—you never answered the question from those months ago."

Toris tilted his head. "Question? You've given me plenty of those."

"'Do you believe in ghosts?'" Gilbert echoed himself.

Toris sighed inwardly and resisted the temptation to stand up and ignore the other for bringing _that_ up again.

"I… don't know," Toris said after consideration. "Back then, my brothers always told me I could see ghosts when I told them what I was able to notice inside of people. After that, I stopped believing in them and I even almost forgot about it until I met you. Then again… I still didn't believe in them until…" Toris trailed off as the image of the hanging shadow flashed within his mind. Several days after the incident left him shaken and terrified of the dark—reactions he felt ashamed of. He was almost certain there was a man strung up from the ceiling at the other end of that hall that night, but Alfred swore he didn't find a trace of a noose nor corpse. Toris said he was convinced but deep inside, he knew that to be far from true.

It had been months, but the memory was enough to make his head fog and ache. He immediately regretted answering Gilbert as a sick feeling twisted inside his stomach.

Gilbert raised an eyebrow and appeared to be on the verge of inquiring Toris even further, but fortunately for the ailed Lithuanian, he decided otherwise.

"The reason I came here wasn't so I could talk to you about ghosts or be sentimental about our college days."

"Then?" He sincerely had no clue why Gilbert had gone through the trouble of stopping by, considering that he _never_ visited on any other occasion despite their connections.

Silence fell over them as Gilbert shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Toris considered himself one of patience, but he wasn't sure how much more of his ambiguity he could handle without protest.

"It wasn't an accident."

Toris frowned before he realized what he was referring to.

"As soon as the news arrived, I knew what had happened—though, I wasn't sure if my mother knew. There was no proof that someone intended for my dad to die, but I had a feeling all along." Gilbert gazed up and locked his eyes with Toris's who found it difficult to look away. "Remember what I told you the night after you landed the job? About how I knew about Visaillis?"

Toris could only nod.

"They offered me a position and because I refused, they—" He shook his head and dug his fingers into the surface of the wood. Toris knew for a fact that he was trying to restrain himself from causing any damage. "Dad took us to Lithuania for that job as a specialized researcher. They were working on something and he never told me or my mom about it. I never knew what he was up to until I happened across his old paperwork, but _of course_ I couldn't understand it at first glance."

"None of it?"

"No… Not at the time. After a while, something was making my dad uncomfortable—he got cold feet and backed out of the project. I remember how tense those nights were—he was always expecting something bad to happen, but I was an idiot and thought it'd be okay to tell him what I found. It made everything worse.

"Some time later, I got an offer to take up an internship and by then, my dad couldn't take it anymore. He told me everything he could, everything I was capable of taking in and comprehending in such a short amount of time. He told me he didn't want me to have anything to do with asylums, especially Visaillis."

"They… They knew about you?" Toris asked quietly, uncertain if it was appropriate to ask any questions while the German sat almost lifelessly across from him, the rims of his eyes turning red. The coffee maker finished brewing but no one shifted their attention.

"I don't know, but I knew they couldn't trust my dad after he left and he knew it too. I figured out they only wanted me to work under their roof so they could keep an eye on my father and make sure his mouth stayed shut." He swallowed thickly and almost choked. Toris ignored all boundaries and reached across the table to grasp his arm. To his surprise, Gilbert clung back. "When I told them I wasn't interested, I guess they found it easier to simply remove him from the picture."

_Permanently_, Toris thought.

"I know what you're saying but even then, there's really no way we can know for sure is there?"

Gilbert chuckled mirthlessly. "Either way they got what they wanted. It seems like the only thing I'm sure of is that my dad really did die that night and now Visaillis doesn't have to worry about a thing."

"I'm… sorry."

"You would be," Gilbert grinned despite himself. "It's cold in here, just saying for your info'".

Toris finally stood up to tend to the coffee in hopes of warming the other up with the hot beverage. "They did overlook one thing, didn't they?" Toris said, touching back on Visaillis.

"_Ja_." Being himself again, Gilbert snapped his fingers. "And _that's_ why I'm here."

-x-X-x-

Ivan sat up in his temporary bed—a blessing considering what he was accommodated with before. It seemed like days since Toris's last visit, but he was in a state to know that it had only been mere hours.

His caretaker left the curtains open tonight which allowed the pale moonlight to filter through and illuminate his linen sheets along with the tips of his toes. Leaning against the wall the bed was pushed up against, Ivan gazed out the window even though there was nothing out there to entertain him besides the moon itself. Clear nights like these were certainly rare during the cold seasons.

The door clicked and Ivan couldn't help but turn his head in mild interest. There was no clock in the room, but he knew it was much too late for any sort of visitor. Not even Toris himself could see him during this time of the night.

He waited for his impromptu visitor to show himself and when he did, Ivan was somehow unsurprised to see a face he loathed so very much.

Ivan smiled despite the murderous desire rising within him. "Come to see if I'm still in a blabbering state, have you?"

"Perhaps," came the snide reply.

"Marcel," Ivan began, "I doubt even _you, _a lapdog, would be allowed here. Neither are you welcome and I'd appreciate it if you let me be for the night at least."

Marcel advanced on him but stopped short of the bed. Ivan didn't budge. "You've grown noticeably attached to a worker of ours, haven't you?"

"I suppose so—I mean, it must be obvious, if even one like yourself notices," Ivan replied lightly, flicking dirt from underneath his fingernails.

His antagonist visibly bristled with anger. "Be careful with what you say, trash. You've given us plenty of leverage against you, yet you never bend by our rules or will."

Ivan did not look at him, seemingly too busy picking lint off his sheets. "You will me to suffer for the death of Gabriel—I remember that much when I'm not stuffed with your _medicine_. I have a great dislike for you, _da_, but I admit this place makes me very unhappy if that is any consolation."

"You barely know the meaning of unhappiness," Marcel spat. "I hate you people—you've brought nothing but death and suffering to those around you. You deserve worse than this, Braginsky, and you know it very well."

Ivan grit his teeth but he didn't rise for the bait. "I suppose I must be very lucky to be gifted with insanity then."

"Delirium does dull the pain, doesn't it? Then you _are _lucky. We can take your crutch away and let your taste true guilt. I suggest you to be very afraid, trash."

Ivan laughed, his voice turning higher as he covered his mouth. He allowed his giggles to subside before saying, "I say you have more reason to be afraid, Marcel. You have laid hands on someone very dear to me and I do not forgive very easily." His lifted a relaxed hand. "You have power, but you are weak—weaker than me. You know well that I am capable of ringing the life out of you, _da?_"

Marcel smiled darkly at the threat. "How typical. That would make two, wouldn't it?"

For a fraction of a second, true madness crossed the Russian's eyes as his hand shot for the other's throat. However, Ivan restrained himself just in time for his fingers to stop just centimeters from his neck. He dropped his hand and held it within his other, rubbing it as if he'd just been burned.

"A nosey one, aren't you?" Ivan looked away. "You must think very highly of yourself if you truly believe that it is _you_ that is keeping me behind these walls… How is that arm of yours?"

Marcel's mentioned arm twitched and Ivan drew satisfaction from his irritation. "You were never this cheeky after your first week until he arrived. Laurinaitis is blind and vulnerable, yet you don't worry about his well-being at all?"

It was Ivan's turn to bristle as the vicious intent rose higher within him. "Toris is beyond you." _He is strong and kind. Someone of your caliber cannot understand an ounce of his intentions or thoughts._

Marcel ignored his comment. "If he takes a single step out of line… you know what happens; you know what we're capable of and your friend will never be an exception to our rules. I wonder why he is still here, or why he was hired in the first place, but you don't realize how lucky you're able to see him, thanks to Pavarde."

"I do not worry for him," Ivan said distantly, feeling as if he were being dishonest to himself. "Leave, I'm done with this pointless conversing."

His antagonist scoffed but backed off. "I've said what I needed to say. What you have now won't last forever and you'll regret every finger you've raised against us."

His voice faded from Ivan's ears moments after he left and locked the door. Ivan himself shifted his entire body and scooted to the end of the bed until his feet rested flat against the floor.

The moon continued to shine brightly and his eyes began to water. Ivan wiped them and bowed his head, thinking about Toris. Toris was kind to him and never forced his hand. He wasn't as ignorant as Marcel was lead to believe. The brunette possessed a sense of perception about him and Ivan began to wonder what the young man saw in him.

He was not afraid of Marcel himself, but he didn't know if he could go back to a world where he could no longer look forward to the Lithuanian visiting and caring for him in place of that man. He trusted Toris to be smart enough to avoid trouble in a place like this, but Marcel only confirmed his worries—there was no good when it came to him. A Toris gone forever to him was better than a Toris hurt, or worse.

The brunette was always on his mind, even in his delusions and rare instances of lucidity, like now. He couldn't truthfully deny to himself that he didn't care for the other. Thinking about him made him feel warm and that was enough to ward off the effects of whatever else crossed his mind.

Ivan lifted his head and fell backwards against his bed. His eyes darted to every corner of the room, almost expecting one of his hallucinations to taunt him.

The night was clear and he was alone.

-x-X-x-

The apartment was thick with the scent of coffee. Toris stirred his own mug idly, waiting for his friend to get ready on his own. The blinds were drawn, the door locked, and their voices hushed at his insistence.

"… He had already worked with them for around a year before he started having second thoughts about who he was working for."

"What was it that he and the others were working on exactly?" Toris asked.

Gilbert stared at him and he could tell that he was thinking his words thoroughly. "It didn't have a name… Not at the time at least. It was a drug—a drug or a poison, God, I don't even know. They claimed it had a very promising use to suppress hallucinations caused by post-traumatic stress disorder, schizophrenia, paraphrenia, and so on. They knew the benefits of what they were working with, but it was nothing more than a mess—that's what my dad thought.

"Nothing below a human could survive the treatment. For a time, it _did_ suppress signs of anxiety and paranoia, but the lab rats all experienced amplified symptoms during the last hours of their lives before dropping dead."

A cold shiver ran through Toris as he waited for the other to continue, almost feeling afraid himself. "All of…?"

Gilbert nodded. "Ever heard of death by insanity alone? Doesn't happen very often, but their hearts would just stop. Apart from that, it was easy for an overdose to occur since the line between necessary and unnecessary was thin. Dad was right to say the risks were too great. He didn't understand why so much work was put into refining a drug that no one outside of this country cared about, especially when medication for those disorders already existed. After he told me this, I didn't get it either. I'm sure none of the guys he worked with did, and I guess that's why the higher-ups never told them what they were doing with their work."

Just then, it sunk into Toris that he was working for these same people. His hands turned clammy and he hid them under the table to wipe them. He felt an unexplainable guilt bubble in his stomach—he knew that the staff of Visaillis was far from righteous and fair in their methods, but to hear about their awful history with his own ears was a different experience.

"Some four years ago, three names showed up on the European news." Gilbert held up three fingers. "Of course I don't remember their names now, but I'll never forget the feeling I got after my dad connected the dots for me. These were three men who came back from a failed mission in Afghanistan where they lost their leader and a majority of their comrades. The casualties shocked everyone and pretty soon everyone I knew kept talking about how a single mission could fail so badly. However, even for four years ago, that was old news. Four years ago, all three of those men died, one after the other, and that's what my dad worried about."

"I… I think I know what you're talking about." Toris vaguely remembered a story like this, but there were many tragic stories he had read about back then.

"You might… I heard the governments of the nations involved tried to keep it quiet, but people found out anyways. Their deaths were blamed on things like alcohol poisoning or drug overdose, but the true causes of death were never determined since for some weird reason, the three families refused autopsies. Obviously some people were suspecting foul-play but no one could prove a thing. Neither of us thought something had run amiss and we took in the news like it was regular news. We forgot about it over time until the issue resurfaced in Visaillis.

"Visaillis is an independent asylum with facilities created for research, like you should know by now. They're independent, but they're connected to branches in other foreign cities, like Moscow. The drug they were working on was already being given to people even though every guinea pig had died from its effects. Like the rats, every single person who was given the experimental medication seemingly had their symptoms cured, but snuffed out in the end."

Toris felt an ache in his fingers before he realized he had been clenching his fists so tightly that he broke skin. "Then those men… They were murdered, weren't they? Was it just those three?"

"Yes…" Gilbert tilted his head. He looked just as bothered as Toris as he went on, "No one told him this, but after my dad found out about the role his employers played in the deaths, he formed his own theory. Those men survived a horrible experience, so they were picked out from the others. What he found out for a fact was that there were actually four soldiers who survived the incident. The forth one was kept out of public eye for some reason, but there were a few people who knew about him. Still, he was given the same treatment as the others."

"And then…?"

"He lived… Well, at least outlived the others. He was still alive as far as my dad knew but that was enough. He couldn't take it anymore and my dad separated himself from Visaillis."

Toris has an inkling feeling as he tilted his head questioningly. "You don't happen to know who…?"

"Well," Gilbert started, "The team was composed of mostly Serbians and Russians and one Lithuanian but he died during the mission. I don't remember the last survivor's name but he was from a town outside of Moscow, Russia."

Toris leaned in with every ounce of his attention focused on Gilbert. "Did…" He swallowed, struggling to keep the words on his tongue in order. "Did his first name happen to be Ivan?"

Gilbert stared at him a curious look in his eyes. "That was it."

**- - x – X – x - -**

_It seems to me that by the time I finish writing a chapter, I'm too worn out to think of a meaningful authors note to write._

_Well, I just want to say Happy New Year's everyone and thank you for sticking with me and Lamentia for this long :) _

_Love!_

_PS: I decided to add a hint since I'm not sure how many of you are still confused ^^; If you feel that you are, I suggest looking back at chapter 8 :)_


	17. Inescapable

_******Title: **Lamentia******  
Author: **Kaisre******  
Rating: **T******  
Summary: **Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian. _  
_**Characters: **Lithuania / Toris, Russia / Ivan, Prussia / Gilbert _

* * *

**_- Lamentia -_**

**_- XVII - _**

* * *

Although Toris had an inkling feeling from the moment Gilbert started speaking, the name hit him like a bullet. It was only a single perfectly normal name, yet it was all he needed from him. He was already in the middle of fiddling with the pieces Gilbert was handing over to him to put together his own conclusion, but it was Ivan's name that provided the extra binding.

He remembered those three names of Ivan's former comrades from four years ago. According to Alfred's sensational and passionate account of the Russian's history, his entire team was supposedly betrayed and abandoned after their commander had been murdered. No one was supposed to die on this mission, yet only four men survived—three of who ultimately met their untimely ends.

It was obvious to him now that Ivan was the fourth survivor from Afghanistan. The disaster was one of a kind and nothing of its nature every occurred since then. He always knew a mapping of villages in the middle-eastern region was Ivan's last destination before he allowed himself to be locked up in Visaillis forever… or at least, that was what Ivan intended for himself as far as Toris could interpret him. From day one, the Russian had told him he would never give up on escaping his prison, and yet there was still a considerable part of him that had already seemed to accept his fate.

"_In Russia, they say only a fool will stop fighting. Many times I have tried to leave… But then… only a fool smiles when he is not happy. Am I a fool, Toris…? Or am I beyond such sayings?"_

Despite whatever he was told, Toris never saw or suspect Ivan to leave. He never entered his ward half-afraid that he had escaped. He had fought against authority, yes, but Ivan had never tried to run away or escape him. It was true that he didn't listen to everything Toris had to say, but aside from the beginning, he never tried to flat out antagonize him or make his job any more stressful than it was supposed to be. Without realizing it at first, Toris felt a tinge of gratitude. Ever since they met, he tried his best to form his own opinion based on his own experiences about the patient without depending on the accounts of others. Whatever he was told was merely hearsay.

"You're thinking," Gilbert needlessly pointed out.

"… Sorry," Toris responded listlessly. He was staring downwards, his eyes focused on nothing in particular.

"You got what I just said, right? If you ask me to repeat myself, I won't you know…"

"I… I want to think about this," Toris said quietly, pressing his hands to his lap. He didn't know what he was feeling right now. Was he supposed to be excited that Gilbert had just handed over information that would have otherwise been unobtainable? Was he supposed to be angry, angry that these people sat back and watched a young man deteriorate into little more than a madman who had lost everything? He didn't question the German's credibility—in fact, that was the last thing he was concerned with. His mind could barely wrap around his revelations and he couldn't understand even that.

His fists closed. What was Ivan to him? Why couldn't he see past the scars that piled on the surface of those pale eyes? He had spent his entire life plagued by what seemed like the ever-present poison of other people's misery, and yet he was having trouble wrapping his mind around this man's past. There was no doubt that Ivan was unhappy, suffering even, and Toris didn't feel like he was observing this through a pair of brand new eyes, eyes that would allow him to pull the Russian out of his misery. Rather, he felt helpless and it was helplessness that often inspired self-loathing.

He wouldn't be lying if he admitted he disliked himself for remaining in a passive state when another man's entire life was decaying at his feet for a "grander" scheme that neither him nor Gilbert fully understood. His perception never granted him a moment of apathy in his entire life, so then why was he standing idle while Alfred rushed to gather all the pieces together, while Gilbert defied all definition of his character and suffered in silence?

What was he supposed to feel, to do?

"… I'm tired," he finally muttered after a long stretch of silence. Coffee didn't even sound half as good now that he was craving sleep, and much of it. He truly was tired in more than one way, but the least he could do was grant his body some sleep.

"Yeah, I uh, I get it. I understand." Gilbert sat up, pushing his chair with a scrape that sent a dull pain pulsing through the brunette's skull. Toris stood up as well and swayed, his vision going black for a moment. Gilbert dusted himself off. "Sorry for… for keeping you up and stuff," he said a bit awkwardly. He turned around and reached for his coat—he was leaving.

"Ah—!" Toris rushed over and grabbed the other's arm without thinking. "Please don't, I mean, don't leave tonight, Gilbert," he stammered, quickly correcting himself, "This probably sounds odd but I know you know it too—it's dangerous. What you've done for me tonight probably doesn't change your situation, but I don't think I can let you go outside alone and feel comfortable about it. They… They know who you are, don't they?"

Gilbert frowned, clearly impatient with his stammering. "What're you saying?"

He let go of him when he was sure the other wasn't going anywhere. "You were checking my cabinets for bugs, yes? I know it seems ridiculous—I thought the same thing, but after hearing about… about what happened, I suppose Visaillis truly does have no limit to their actions. I still don't know what they're trying to achieve whether it be with my patient alone or with others, but you're in much of a risk as me, I think."

"I'm glad you realize you're working for a collection of bastards, but what are you suggesting?"

"Stay here for tonight. You can reassure me that I'm not going crazy in the morning. The bed's mine," he added firmly, knowing the German's tendencies. "But the floor and sofa are open."

Gilbert thought for a moment. "You're asking me to sleep with you."

Toris raised an eyebrow. "No I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"What in the world gave you that thought? You're taking either the floor or the sofa." He pointed decisively at the mentioned locations.

Gilbert heaved out a huge, dramatic sigh as he flopped down on the couch, glaring at him like he always did. Toris took this as an agreement—he was used to this sort of behavior and he already gave up on trying to decode his glares and sarcastic remarks years ago. "I'm too good for your floor. Fetch me a blanket or something."

"I don't have one," Toris said with a smile to counter his frown. "It's a good thing you came here appropriately dressed, no? Don't give me that look—I'll leave the heat on just for you."

Without sticking around to listen to his fervent protests and threats to leave that very instant, Toris turned around and returned to his own bedroom, collapsing onto the bed without bothering to change into something more appropriate. He brought a pillow to his middle and hugged it tightly, curling up in a fetal position. He breathed in the subtle scent of linen and lavender, the pleasant smells quickly luring him in to sleep—a relief from the stress of his everyday life.

-x-X-x-

_He was walking down the dark corridor as pale moonlight filtered in through the ever-present row of windows, illuminating the dust that swirled in the air. Every step he took sent more glittering specks up into the light. It was as if no one had taken a step here in several years, which was certainly strange. This was the place where he worked. This place often had one or two people walking down the many halls to attend to their own business… But no… that wasn't right—everyone had left, been sent away, hadn't they?_

_He was the only one left and he was walking slowly down this deserted hallway. He had been here before… He had been here before and he had tried to forget. _

"_Don't come any closer, Toris. Please, I told you to stay away from it…"_

_He was definitely alone, but Ivan's voice rung in his ears. He formed an apology within his head but remained silent. _

_The dark figure appeared before him, blocking his view of the door located at the far end of the hall. Its neck was wrapped in a tight rope connected to the ceiling. It swayed there, back and forth… back and forth. The sound of stretching rope seemed like tortured screams in his ears, but his feet continued to bring him closer to the shadow of a corpse. Even as he closed the distance between them, he could not make out the face of the hanging man._

"_I'm no longer afraid of you… Nor am I disgusted or repulsed. But why are you here?"_

_The corpse did not answer him._

"_What business do you have here?" He continued to ask it questions despite its unwavering silence. "I have definitely seen you before, yet why am I the only one…? Why is it just me?"_

_He looked down at his feet and thought as deep as his lucidity would allow. Why was he the only one indeed? He knew he was in the right mind at the time, yet his companion claimed he saw nothing… He was clearly missing something and the gaping hole in his thoughts made him frustrated._

_He raised his eyes and he continued to search the black corpse for answers. He stretched out his hand, but he didn't know what he was reaching for—it wasn't his intention to touch the figure. Its lack of features took away whatever humanlike qualities it possessed. To him, it seemed like nothing more than a black mass floating in front of him. Perhaps it was a warning, a symbol… or what most would suggest, a ghost._

"_You're not human," he said aloud, almost defiantly. "Nor are you dead… This is what I feel but I don't understand it."_

_It listened to him, but offered no spoken words._

_His feet carried him back and forth, pacing. "Yes, you're very much alive…" How did he know this? The words continued to leave his mouth despite his confusion—it was as if a stranger was speaking through his mouth. "It's so easy to say that everything is just my imagination, but I want to know—!"_

_He stopped and raised his voice as his frustration grew. He needed to fill that hole… that place where something was missing. What was it about him that singled him out from the others? What was so different about him…? _

"_I can see the suffering of others." He said it loud and clear. In this dreamlike, yet lucid state of his, he was free of his typical uncertainty about his own perception of human pain. "I can see you, and you're alive… but where is it, your pain? That's why you're here isn't it, because you're suffering as well?"_

_The shadow maintained its defiant silence, hanging still. _

_He was free of the raw fear that he formerly possessed, but he was not ignorant to the overwhelming weight the corpse had on him. Its presence no longer frightened nor surprised him, but there was an invisible force clinging to him, dragging him down, screaming quietly in his ears. This feeling was not unfamiliar to him—he experienced it many times over during his entire life, although not on such a level as this. He was sensitive to the pain of others, and sometimes it made him sick, but no matter where he would turn his head, he was irrevocably bound to the presence of anguish and remorse. Human suffering was more than an unpleasant smell one could just turn away from. No, this was something he couldn't escape. _

_Yet even so, that man with the livid eyes escaped his comprehension. Anyone could see the scars on his body, as well as the ones behind his eyes, but he himself saw no dark miasma. How could someone like him—someone so clearly in deep pain be free of such a thing? Why couldn't he see anything? What was so different about the man with ashen hair and pale skin?_

_The person, no, the thing before him was not human and he could apparently sense that. The answer was within his grasp, but he still felt lost._

_Suddenly, the weight in his heart grew stronger and he clutched his chest in newfound pain, his fingers digging in between the grooves of his ribs. The silenced voice was screaming with all its might now, right in to his ear. It was pleading, begging for him to finally realize the truth. His own eyes clenched shut and shot open within the same second._

"_You're… You're it—!" He bounded forward and threw out his arm. His hand pierced through the gut of the corpse and black smoke poured out of the shapeless wound, engulfing him and all of his surroundings. Like tendrils, the trails of black matter wrapped around him and invaded his vision, hearing, and the rest of his senses. He fell forward, unable to control his movements but his groping hand eventually found what he realized was the handle of the door the shadow was guarding. He wrenched it open and the deep blackness that surrounded him shattered like glass, freeing him._

_He stumbled forward and the door shut behind him. The floor beneath his feet as well as the walls around him deteriorated within seconds and the setting changed as suddenly as it appeared._

_Fresh patches of grass and smooth stones replaced the grungy floor of the asylum. It took a minute for him to regain his balance as he looked around at his new surroundings. A gray-blue sky stretched above him, streaked with translucent clouds. Stone matching the color of the sky and took the form of slabs and statues, littering the planes of green and slate. Some of the stone markers were worn; some were smooth and white like the clouds. All of them bore the name of the ones who rested beneath their heads. This was the graveyard of the small town he grew up in and he recognized it well. _

"_This reminds me of you." A soft voice. _

_He whirled around and found his gaze meeting purple depths. Ivan was standing before him, but he was not the Ivan he knew. This Ivan had a strong build and his back was straight, not bent over and shaking. He stood tall and still retained the qualities befitting a soldier. His ashen hair was the same color, but it was neater and obviously better kept. His livid eyes possessed the same haunting look, but they were not as heavily scarred and sad as the eyes he was familiar with. They were somehow brighter, happier even. This unfamiliar man did not even wear the typical hospital clothes he was used to, but a heavy beige coat with ebony buttons that fit him well. A long cream scarf was wrapped around his neck and draped over his shoulders, partially covering his chin. The hands that hung at his side were covered in smooth brown leather, matching the boots that came up all the way to his knees. He had to admit this man was rather stately and impressive._

"_Privyet, Toris."_

_Toris raised his fingers to his own lips, unsure of what to say. This was definitely Ivan, or rather, the Ivan from the photos. He was of a time that had already passed away, but he was here and if Toris weren't dreaming, he'd find this situation very strange. _

_The strange Ivan didn't seem to be concerned or offended by his silence. "I'm sorry you had to see such an ugly sight… You know I tried to hide it, I really did."_

"_I was right then, wasn't I?" Toris asked, frowning. "That shadow wasn't a person, nor was it ever a person."_

_The pale-haired man smiled painfully. "Was it, Toris?"_

"_I…" Wasn't he supposed to know?_

_As if reading his thoughts, Ivan spun around with his back facing to him as he spread his arms. "This is all in your head. You've figured it out by now, da? I know everything you know, but nothing more." He looked over his shoulder, the smile still on his face. "Will it make you happy if I only tell you things you want to hear? That's what I'm here for after all."_

_It was hard to lie when he was dreaming, but it was still a difficult question to answer truthfully either way. Yes, he would be happy to hear his theories confirmed. No, he would not be happy if all he received were meaningless words. _

"_I see…" He read his thoughts again. The leather-clad hands pushed themselves into their respective pockets as their owner turned back around to face him. One hand fell free and raised upwards, offering itself to Toris. "Walk with me."_

_Toris hesitated before accepting it, but he couldn't help but feel a mysterious sense of relief when those cool fingers closed around his. He was gently pulled forward and his feet moved on their own, carrying him with the guidance of the other._

"_This place is nice…" Ivan hummed casually. "It's quiet and peaceful, a place of deep thought and comeliness… reminds me of you, da?" He looked at him again as he repeated his suggestion from earlier._

"_What do you mean?" He felt that he already had an idea, but nothing stopped him from asking. "This place is a cemetery."_

"_Oh? My words remain unchanged. A cemetery or not, this place within you is still beautiful."_

"_It's filled with the dead," Toris argued, tightening his hold on the hand. "It's filled with the suffering of others—I remember it clearly from when I was little… I saw no happiness, only sadness on these grounds."_

_Ivan threw his head back and laughed as if Toris had just said the funniest thing ever. "Then it just means death and sadness are already a part of you, da? This is what makes you different, Toris. You are familiar with death and you don't fear it, not for yourself anyway… and you can see all things associated with it."_

_His words did not unnerve him as much as they should've. "…Then why was I unable to see yours until then?"_

"_Oh, so you did figure it out then… Like how this place is a part of you, that shadow… that pitiful corpse was a part of me as well, and only you could see it with that odd sort of perception of yours." He stared off into the distance as they continued to walk along the pebbled path, passing through rows of tombstones and bouquets of flowers. Butterflies flitted about. "But don't be mislead. I'm weak, Toris—very weak and undeserving of the love and kindness granted to me in the past. I am not strong like you—I could not handle the things I saw nor the unforgivable crimes I committed. You may ask how I've come to manage then. It's simple; I could not undo the past, so I simply detached myself from it to suppress most of the pain. Does that answer your question, Toris? I told you I'm weak, weak and cowardly. I wanted to hide my pain and I did not want you to see it. Yes, I'll say this again—that shadow was my suffering you couldn't find at first because I had simply cast it away from myself. Insanity has its way of doing things, but that does not mean I'm free of pain and you can see that very clearly."_

_Toris nodded slowly. His intuition was right; the shadow wasn't a person like he originally thought it was, but it was still alive in its own way. What he didn't understand is why it appeared in the vague shape it appeared in and if it was _ever_ a person. Ivan's words confirmed his suspicions, but he felt that he was only receiving half an answer. If he weren't dreaming, maybe he'd realize that it was hopeless to beseech the other for answers he did not know. "What really happened in the past…? Before Visaillis?" _

_The winding path paved with stones came to an abrupt end as the two of them stopped before the edge of a steep cliff. Ivan turned slightly to face him a little, the tips of his right toes displacing a few rocks that tumbled down the cliff side. "That will be something you have to figure out on your own, da? I think you're forgetting one important thing, Toris."_

_He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"_

_Ivan only smiled and the ground beneath them gave away, his surroundings falling into a blur and fading into a deep blackness._

-x-X-x-

Toris's eyes opened wide. He was lying spread-eagled on his back, facing the ceiling as his heart pounded very loudly within his chest. The sky outside was still dark but according to his clock, he only had one minute before his alarm would ring. He sat up reluctantly, turning off the clock before it went off. For a moment, he didn't move from his position. He felt that he had only captured a few minutes of sleep, but he still felt far from tired at the same time. He closed his eyes and struggled to remember every word from his dream. He couldn't forget… there was no way he could forget.

Now that he remembered, he mentally slapped himself for allowing his fear to blind him. If he knew that the shadow was Ivan's, perhaps he would have been able to realize that it was simply (or not so simply) Ivan's own misery. But why was it a hanged man and not the vaguely dark haze he was used to seeing? Now that he was awake, this observation chilled him to the bone despite his claim that he was no longer afraid or disgusted. If Toris wasn't pulling his own leg, it would mean it _wasn't_ his imagination.

_Maybe he was right… maybe it was so strong that he couldn't handle it without going insane but… but he is… not exactly in his right mind, isn't he?_

Toris shook his head and saved his thoughts for the shower. He briefly checked outside of his bedroom to make sure Gilbert was still safe and sound. Seeing the German sprawled on his sofa with his mouth wide open, Toris couldn't help but grin to himself.

He could wake him later.

-x-X-x-

It was rare of Alfred to wake up this early on his own free will to do work, _forensic_ work for that matter.

Before him was an array of photos from the particular crime scene, similar to the ones he had shown Toris. Beside him was a kid no older than nineteen assisting him. Alfred had to admit he didn't expect someone so young to be working with forensics, even as a mere intern.

"So the case files say he died of strangulation, right?" Alfred asked him as he looked through his own share of papers.

The young intern nodded. "Yeah… It took the victim around fifteen minutes to die after his carotid arteries were blocked."

Alfred suppressed a shudder. He returned to his papers and read down the paragraph of afflictions listed.

_Particles of glass found within the wounds suggest that all puncture and slash wounds were made by broken glass only. Stab wounds to the shoulders, abdomen, and chest were made for a total of twenty-seven afflictions not including the afflictions of the face. A slash wound was inflicted from victim's right ear to left jaw; face was repeatedly stabbed four times with enough force to break front teeth of the victim as well as shatter the jaw vertically from first molar straight down. Different samples of glass were used; see physical weapons. All injuries above were inflicted postmortem thirty minutes to an hour after death. Brain swelling… hemorrhages… pressure on the vagal nerve lead to suffocation. Stress on the spinal cord found occurred prior, during, and after death. Prior…_

Alfred stopped reading. Something wasn't right. He leaned over and tapped the intern on the shoulders, showing him the paper. "Take a look at this… What the heck does 'stress on the spinal cord' mean?"

The young man didn't seem to share Alfred's concern. "Oh, it's a pretty vague statement, but it means that there was either enough weight or pressure put on the spinal cord to cause some physical damage, but not sever it completely."

Alfred frowned, picking up one of the photos. "But how was the murderer supposed to inflict something like that?"

The intern shrugged carelessly. "Probably picked him up and threw him around I guess."

He couldn't accept that. Couldn't this guy see that there was something glaringly wrong about this? "There were no wounds caused by trauma listed. Sure the jaw and teeth were broken, but those were made by force behind the stabbing. According to the court records, the defendant was accused of strangling the victim and inflicting the puncture wounds after death." He laid the chosen photo down. It was a close up of the lower half of the victim's face along with his neck. Alfred ignored the upper part and traced a finger along the rough red line that circled the neck like a branded collar. "No way this could be made by two hands. I also find it weird that the guy would wait a whole fifteen minutes before mutilating a dead body if he was doing it out of anger."

"The exact details may be inaccurate for some points," he admitted, "but didn't he accept all charges? I don't really get why the case is being reopened…"

Alfred mentally thanked his boss for his hand in this. "Hey, don't say stuff like that. Isn't it your job to find the truth based on evidence? Would you get it if it turns out this guy is innocent and he's spent a good chunk of time in an asylum for nothing?"

Alfred expected to break through the other if he worded his conviction like that. He was right when the young intern lowered his head to hide his flushing cheeks. "Oh… well then, well I guess you're right."

He nodded and pushed the pile of papers and photos towards him. "Can you do me a favor and look over these things for me? I want you to review the details of the crime scene and autopsy reports word for word. There's something else I need to do and I can't stand staying in a lab all day."

-x-X-x-

"Good morning, Ivan."

"Good morning, Toris."

Ivan sat up lazily on his bed, watching the familiar brunette stroll into his room like he had done before for many weeks—it was almost becoming routine again. He was pleased, but his skin was dry, his eyes puffy, and his hair messy. He lifted both hands in a half-hearted attempt to straighten the nest of beige hair. Maybe he should show some sign that he didn't want to appear a complete mess in front of Toris.

Not that Toris would get mad.

Nor would he care…

He knew the young man had more pressing things to worry about. Bright and open eyes like his were easy to read sometimes, no matter how old they appeared to be. He liked that about him—he liked how even something so worn and used could retain it's clarity. Well of course they appeared nice and clear… It was Toris after all.

"Would you like the blinds open today?" Oh, he was speaking to him again. Something inside of him fluttered and he smiled.

"Is it raining, Toris?"

Toris peeked between a crack in the blinds. "Not at all."

"Oh? Then is it snowing?"

Toris had an amused smile on his face when he checked again to humor him. "Not today, Ivan. Maybe it's too early for that."

"Maybe," Ivan echoed, sitting up straighter as if he wanted to catch a glimpse of the outside world. "In Russia, it's never too early for snow."

Toris laughed and Ivan smiled again. What was wrong with him today? "You're exaggerating. Anyway, this is Lithuania, silly."

"_And it's always warm in Lithuania…_" Ivan murmured under his breath, fiddling with the white sheets at his feet. Toris looked towards him curiously and Ivan shook his head. "Mm… please open the shades."

The native Lithuanian complied and pulled open the blinds. It wasn't necessarily sunny outside, but the cold morning light was enough to make his poorly trained eyes water. He rubbed them clear and squinted his violet orbs to make out the outside environment. As far as he could tell, everything remained the same, from the distant trees and mountains to they grey sky. He subconsciously licked his lips and turned his face away in disinterest. He wasn't sure why he should've been interested in the first place. A static environment in a place like this was never a surprise to him. What had he been expecting?

Toris walked over to the side of his bed and placed the clipboard along with a fragrant foam box on the floor. There were no bedside tables or drawers since every piece of furniture besides the bed had been removed when Ivan was placed back inside the room.

Ivan hummed as he breathed in deeply, taking in the fresh smell of sweet bread and what seemed like eggs. "You… you are… will be cooking for me again?"

Toris nodded as he straightened the sheets on the bed. Ivan moved his feet to give him room and wormed back till his spine touched the headboard.

"Well since things are back to normal…" Toris winced and bit his lip. Concerned, Ivan reached for him but the other shook his head and continued. "I guess we should go back to our daily routine, huh? Breakfast if I could help it, lunch in the middle, then dinner in the evening… Hmm, what would you like for lunch, Ivan?"

"I don't know," Ivan said quietly. He brought his knees to his chest and rested his chin against them, watching as Toris took a seat at the edge of his bed with his clipboard in hand. He stretched out and wiggled his toes until they brushed up against his coat. Toris laid a hand across them like a warm blanket over cold, white flesh. His toes wiggled again in appreciation. "Anything you bring is good—more than good."

"I'll think about it then." Toris clicked his pen with his free hand and rested the tip to the single leaf of paper clamped to his clipboard. Silence fell over them as Toris stared straight ahead, thinking deeply. Ivan blinked, but otherwise sat still like a statue, watching intently to see what he was going to do next.

"… Ivan?"

"_Da_, Toris?"

He was staring straight through the caged window, then to the floor, then to him. "They never let you outside, do they?"

He tilted his head curiously, frowning slightly. "I think you already know the answer to that, yes? Of course they never let me outside. You bring me out of this room sometimes, but I am never allowed near the halls that lead to the open. What are you thinking about…?"

"Oh…" Toris said distantly. "Ivan, can you please stand up for me?"

His frown deepened. Toris was never this ambiguous before but he did as he was told. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his bare feet laying flat on the ground before he stood up as straight as he could…

And fell.

Toris let out a startled noise and within a second was on his knees, attempting to help him up. "I'm sorry," he quickly apologized, "I didn't mean for you to try that so quickly…"

"I-I am not a child," Ivan said defensively. Once he was back on his feet, he pulled away from Toris. His knees buckled again but he locked them this time, putting a hand against the foot of the bed to support himself. "I…" What was wrong with him? He never realized how weak he was before. Or perhaps he just never really noticed when he was dragged all over the place. He stared and scrutinized his feet, then at Toris for an explanation.

Toris grimaced, putting on a face that matched his. Except, maybe he didn't seem as confused as Ivan was himself. "It's because you haven't left your bed very much, have you? Nor have you been allowed outside for fresh air and a nice walk." Toris shook his head, appearing upset and worried now. "This isn't right…" Ivan heard him mumble. Why was he acting so surprised? Now that Ivan knew, it made perfect sense to him. He still despised the situation though.

Ivan slowly removed his hand from his support and took careful steps away from his bed. He bit his lip, feeling as if he had a good portion of whatever dignity he had in this state taken away from him, but no… Toris wasn't going to laugh at him. He felt a little better and his steps grew sturdier as he walked over to the window. "I can do it, see?" He turned slightly to cast a glace at Toris. "There are no problems—I'm fine."

Leaning on the windowsill, he looked through the thick glass. It was the same like always, but he never realized how long it had been since he had taken a real look outside. The open space and height he was at made him slightly dizzy. Toris slowly walked over to him and mimicked his position, leaning against the windowsill as well. "I… wish I could take you out," he said, sounding uncertain with himself.

Ivan leaned his head on his, humming gently and Toris chuckled slightly at the contact. "How long?" he asked him in response.

Toris fell quiet, thinking. He seemed reluctant to give him a definite answer. "… I'm not sure." He paused. "Let's sit down again. The others want us to talk."

"… Is that so?"

They both made their way to the bed with Toris deliberately walking slowly to wait for the other, although he seemed to already have regained his coordination. Ivan took his place back at the head of the bed, leaning back as Toris took a seat at the edge, like he always had before. "Well doctor," Ivan started, smiling nonchalantly. "What will we be talking about today?"

Toris titled and headed his paper, neat and organized like he tended to be. "How you feel, how you've been feeling these past days, the days before that, and so on." Toris sighed. "I hope you don't mind."

He slowly shook his head. Of course he didn't mind, but Toris knew that—he was just trying to warm himself up. He sensed that the brunette was nervous and distracted by something. He had no idea exactly what and that bothered him. "Toris, is there something wrong?"

The young man smiled humorlessly, clicking his pen. "Don't worry about it. You can leave the questions up to me, but it'd be nice if we can have something going…"

Ivan blinked, but he didn't pursue the subject further. "Why do they want us to 'talk'?"

"They want to track your development," Toris sighed in response. "I don't say much about you so I guess they want written words. This is for a report, Ivan, but I still want to talk to you just because."

He didn't like the idea that the others would be benefitting from this, but it pleased him that Toris was being honest with him. He'll comply with their wishes for the time being. "I understand… So then let's begin, _da_?"

**- - x – X – x - -**

_I'm too tired to write a real author's note. I'm aware that this is obscenely late, and I'm really really sorry about this ;c Things of all areas are getting rough and it's that time of the year where sophomores are put through a relentless barrage of tests. Testssss._

_I want a week of sleep for my birthday, just saying._

_PS. If you sent me a PM and I haven't replied yet, please resend it. Sorry for the inconvenience!_


	18. The Pariah

_******Title: **Lamentia******  
Author: **Kaisre******  
Rating: **T******  
Summary: **Toris abandons an easy life in Kaunas to work at an asylum plagued by desertion and rumors. He should've known his decisions would eventually lead him to a rather secretive history following a certain Russian. _  
_**Characters: **Lithuania / Toris, America / Alfred  
_

* * *

**_- Lamentia -_**

**_- XVIII -_**

* * *

Alfred F. Jones was known to exaggerate often, but he was not a liar. Or at least, he wasn't a very good one and the art of deception was definitely not his forte despite the nature his occupation revolved around. He tried his best not to think about his guilt. He already had plenty of things to be guilty of and that didn't include stealing the last doughnut during early office hours or asking his boss for a sick day when all he really wanted to do was watch the newest episode of _NCIS_.

Alfred F. Jones truly was an enigma, even to himself.

_Hey… Tell me… what's a murderer?_

_Well, someone who unlawfully kills another—_

_Then, am I one…?_

No, Alfred was not a liar at heart. Yes, he had lied in the past but it's the sad truth (truth…? Irony made him laugh) that every soul is guilty of lying.

However, even so, Alfred was not lying when he claimed that he had relatively poor memory. Even so, the words of Ivan Braginsky's last hearing almost a year ago repeated themselves within his mind over his self-reprimanding and he couldn't forget them, even if he tried. These words were the fruits of his efforts; like the recording in his head, he could not forget the planning and espionage it took to acquire this particular information. He couldn't mess up now—he can't let that one single person down. He can't let himself down.

Pulling out his phone and searching through his contacts, Alfred found the name he was looking for and tapped it.

_Dialing… Dialing…_

"'_Alo? Alfred?"_

Alfred smiled when he heard that familiar voice. His relief was almost unexplainable.

"Oh Toris, you're all right after all. How are you?"

"_I—"_ His eagerness to spill a whole load of information was interrupted. _"—ah… Do you really think it would be, uhm, smart to have an entire conversation over phone?"_

"Oh…? _Oh._" Even he caught on and figured out what Toris was insinuating. "Well, of course not! I didn't realize you were low on minutes… Haha, but I wasn't looking for a whole big talk with you to be honest. You don't mind small-talk, do you? It's been a while and I'm checking on my fellow work buddy. That's… you know, all."

Toris chuckled in response on the other end. _"Oh, I see. Sorry, I'm just looking forward to seeing you in person again. How was your trip to the city?"_

"Oh, I just love the weather and how… charming it can be. Hey, Toris? I have some _important_ advice to tell you. Hear me out will you?"

There was a pause and Alfred crossed his fingers, hoping he didn't confuse the other. Perhaps Alfred was half a liar. His advice was indeed important, but it wasn't advice.

"_Can't miss out on that; go ahead."_

He let out a deep breath. "Traveling, even if it's just a few kilometers can be refreshing, don't you know? Who knows what you can learn from traveling and staying in the city. You should take it easy and give yourself a vacation, Toris, even if you're just an intern."

Another pause, before, _"…Oh really? Well I can't wait to have you back. Work at the asylum has been hectic lately."_

_Please hurry, Alfred. Things are getting complicated and you're needed here,_ Alfred translated in his head.

"Hey, I'll be back tomorrow, remember? Let's have coffee at your place."

"_Of course, it'll be a nice break for me. Good bye, Alfred."_

"See you later, partner."

He slid his phone shut and pocketed it, whistling as he made his way back to his hotel room, finally pleased with his days work. They were almost there, he could feel it. His hands shook slightly as he slid the keycard through the designated slot. A flash of green and he was allowed in and the welcoming yet lonely scent of linen greeted him.

"It makes me feel nostalgic somehow…" He sighed as he dropped his brief case and tossed his tie and blazer to the side. He collapsed on the bed and shut his eyes, his limbs sprawled to the four corners of the bed. He was exhausted. To smile and to laugh, it made him happy, yet it took such a toll on him. Ever since he started this trip, he always felt a certain weariness and exhaustion. His eyes must have bags under them by now.

Ah, his eyes.

He was always told that he had eyes the color of a limitless and open sky. The sky was always beautiful, even when it spilled rain, and even when it flashed in anger with streaks of lightning. The sky was bright in the noon, alight with a precious glow in the evening, and soothing in the night. Alfred loved the sky so much when he was a kid, and even now.

His eyes were not the sky.

He could not love them, and he could not love himself for his mistakes and flaws.

_I guess it's just as you say… I'm still a kid. An immature little kid._

"Ugh… Stop thinking about stuff like that and fall asleep, idiot." He rolled over.

-x-X-x-

"_We have high hopes in you, Alfred Jones. It's a pleasure to have you under our service and we're confident you'll continue to deliver outstanding performances."_

"_Woah, I appreciate your praise, sir, but I'm just a regular officer…"_

_The man across from him laughed and Alfred couldn't help but smile with him in return. "If all our officers were like you, this place wouldn't be in such a state but as your commissioner, I shouldn't say stuff like that. Anyways, Alfred my boy, you're a valuable asset to us and it'll be pleasing to hear more news on your progress. It's true that you just finished your initial training at the academy a couple months ago but you possess remarkable prowess."_

_Alfred felt overwhelmed at first, but he warmed up to the praise quickly. A bright smile crossed his face and he stood up a little straighter. "It pleases me for you to say that, sir."_

"_That's all I have to say to you. You're free to go now and continue your duties."_

_Alfred nodded and left, closing the frosted glass door behind him. He smiled to himself, feeling warm and pleased on the inside. This was what they told him, that he was talented and charming—a young officer who possessed unusual prowess. This was what he always wanted to hear ever since he was a little kid. Glory, fame, talent… He was almost there. Alfred F. Jones could honestly say that he felt like flying. _

_Unfortunately for him, that warm feeling was interrupted by an unusual air in the atmosphere and Alfred noticed that the main office of the investigation building was taken by a rather tense feeling. Seconds later, someone burst in through the entrance and Alfred's hand automatically flew to the gun at his side. However, his posture relaxed when he realized that it was only one of his fellow co-workers. _

"_Hey, turn on the screen! We have a mess going on across town…"_

_Someone apparently listened to him and a large screen flickered on for all to see. The screen displayed a blurry bird's eye view of an unknown building. Alfred squinted through his glasses to make out the images as he jogged forward to join the others._

"_A camera from a helicopter… They want us to watch. What's going on?" He asked._

"_A classroom full of hostages… We received a call minutes ago and the police responded to the scene."_

"_Classroom?" Alfred's head turned with a snap toward their commissioner's office. Why wasn't he told earlier…?_

"_Actually, this has nothing to do with us since law enforcement is already present and we don't have any business with this mess… Only after."_

_Alfred wasn't listening. He grabbed his coat and snatched an extra magazine for himself._

"_Alfred! Aren't you listening! We haven't been ordered—" A hand grabbed him but he shook it off as his friends called after him. Blind determination made him oblivious to their protests._

_He didn't register the time it took for him to travel from the main building to the scene by car. What he arrived to was indeed an utter mess. There was smoke and flashing lights along with officers on standby. Standby while innocent kids were in danger… The thought of it made him bristle with anger. What were they doing? Was anyone let into the building? Did they even have a plan?_

"_I don't recall having you here before," an officer Alfred didn't know whispered harshly at him. _

"_What's with all the smoke?"_

_The other man glared at him as if he had never seen anyone stupider in his life. "Small amounts of C4 were detonated and how this person got a hold of those explosives beats us. No one was seriously harmed in the explosions since we got all but one classroom out of the building."_

"_All but the one being held hostage, huh?" Alfred growled, his blue eyes traveling upwards above the brick wall that served as their only cover. _

"_Well of course… We're trying to initiate negotiations but this one is stubborn and I'm afraid that—"_

"_I see someone—!" Alfred hissed, his eyes on a small silhouette shrouded by the smoke and dust. At those words everyone trained their guns on the stumbling figure. No… this wasn't who they thought it was._

"_The suspect is armed, we can't afford to lay down but we can aim for the leg—"_

_Alfred jumped to his feet and leapt over the wall. "Don't shoot!" He called over his shoulder._

"_Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing! Get back here, officer!" The other roared._

_Alfred ignored him and ran to the figure. He was close enough to realize that it was only a little girl clutching the side of her arm. To his horror, he saw red. Her white sleeve was stained with blood and the liquid seeped through her tiny fingers. She was crying._

_Alfred quickly knelt before her and tore a strip of fabric from his own shirt. "Hey… I'm here to help you. Everything is going to be okay."_

_The child seemed unconvinced, gazing up at him with bloodshot eyes. Her hands didn't move from the wound._

_He pleaded with her further. "Let me just tie up that cut okay? It won't hurt a bit and you'll feel much better…"_

_The girl was still crying when she slowly moved her hand away, wincing as she did so. "He… he was going to kill me. He was shooting, h-he had a gun." She shuddered, her words riddled with gasps, sobs, and hiccups. _

_Alfred wrapped up the cut and finished it off with a gentle knot. "Did he hit you?"_

_She shook her head, biting her lip. Alfred took her into his arms to bring her where it was safe. "What happened then?"_

"_I-I fell, mister… E-everything w-was a mess and broken and my friends… my friends…" She let out a wail. "They-they're still in there. W-what if he hurts them b-b-because I ran away?"_

"_Shh… The adults are here to save everyone. That's how it works right? The heroes never let anyone die so we'll save your friends. Everyone will be out in a jiffy."_

_The girl nodded vehemently, biting her thumb. Alfred laid a protective hand over her head. He noticed how small she was in comparison; his heart lurched._

"_Angel…" She whispered. Alfred looked down, clearly puzzled._

"_Huh? What did you say?"_

_The girl visibly flushed and hid her face a way, murmuring something about her mother. Alfred decided not to pry any further—there were other things he needed to take care of._

"_Take care of her," he said solemnly, handing the child to the nearest officer. "She hasn't been hit by a bullet but clean her up and make sure she's okay."_

"…_You can't go back in there, officer. We don't know what the suspect may—"_

_Anger flashed across his eyes. "You've seen it for yourself! How the hell do you think C4 is detonated? Are you going to wait here until the entire building blows up!" Without another word, he whirled around and left to reenter the smoke, leaving the rest stunned in silence._

_Not once did Alfred consider the fact that he was the least experienced of the officers here and that acting alone was simply foolish. Not once did Alfred consider that rescue was not as simple as it seemed and that was where he made his mistake._

_His Glock-17 was in his hands as he stepped over a slab of pavement. The explosives caused some frightening damage and Alfred didn't even want to think what would happen if he ran out of time…_

_Suddenly a shot rang through the air and a chunk of cement was blown straight from a wall right before his eyes. Cursing, he threw himself to the side, waiting…_

"_Nothing that strong can be legal here…"_

_Looking over the corner, Alfred continued and he saw it. He saw another misty figure making it's way towards him. Both arms were raised and several more shots shattered the air. Fortunately for him, they all missed since the smoke served as his own advantage. The fact that this person appeared to be alone was also to his own advantage. That meant that the suspect was separated from the others. It would be unlikely for the explosives to be set off now…_

"_Drop your weapon and put your hands up!" Alfred barked._

_He was close enough now to make out a face. He raised his gun and aimed. "I said drop your weapon."_

_The man didn't listen but let loose another shot, and this time it managed to graze his side. _

_Alfred hissed in pain as his knees buckled, but he forced himself to keep standing. The wound was already partially cauterized from the mere force of the bullet and it burned. A trace of smoke reached his nostrils. With one hand clasped over the wound, Alfred raised his other to aim at his attacker. It was that split second when both of them pulled the trigger, but only one bang sounded through the air. He would never forget that look… The look of pure fear on that person's face when his gun betrayed him and gave nothing but an empty click._

_The bullet pierced his chest and it was during that single moment when armed bodies rushed into the building and Alfred was seized backwards by the collar. His vision flashed and his head swam from pure shock. Even then, he had not grasped the severity of his insubordination._

"_He's dead." A female voice declared suddenly._

"_Dead…?" Alfred whispered, struggling to straighten himself and recollect his thoughts. Someone pushed him forward._

"_Look at him, officer, the body right there."_

_Alfred obeyed for once and stared down at the man he just killed. However, when the smoke and dust finally cleared, Alfred did not find himself staring into the pale face of a heartless killer but a— "A kid… He's only a kid."_

"_Probably a few years younger than you by the looks of it. Jones, is it? You just shot and killed an unarmed minor."_

"_Unarmed… right…" The look of terror flashed in his minds eye. He subconsciously dug his fingers into the gash at his side and visibly winced. _

"_And you got yourself injured." He was lead away from the rubble as the others rushed around them, making haste to disarm the remaining explosives just in case. "You saved thirty kids. You made the move when no one else did. Isn't that what you thought about before you rushed in there like a complete idiot? The media only cares about a few things, one of them being about an off-duty officer who defied orders and killed an unarmed teenage boy in the presence of thirty grade-schoolers. Forget the explosives or injury you sustained. Save it for court."_

_After having the cut tended to, he was unceremoniously shoved into the nearest car and the senior officer offered him these parting words._

"_They won't see a hero, Alfred F. Jones, but a murderer. You need to think about this."_

"_I can't… I can't think right now, sir."_

"_For once in your life, do it."_

_It was several weeks later after the hearing that Alfred found himself in a familiar setting, finally regaining most of his sanity._

_A man, no, his new boss was pacing back and forth before him and every round made the American fidget with increasing discomfort._

"_Alfred F. Jones, former Law Enforcement officer who transferred here, the Investigation Bureau," he spoke with a defined English accent, his foresty gaze traveling over the grounded young man. "So they no longer trust your abilities on the field and now you've been destined to continue your career in forensics instead, or that's what you think."_

_Alfred said nothing. He didn't know what to say and no denial found its way onto his tongue._

_His boss turned his back on him, facing towards the window instead. "You know… You were never in danger of being persecuted for unlawful manslaughter based on the circumstance and physical evidence that the suspect was indeed armed. You're innocent, Alfred, and the media has carried on. Don't mind that old hag of a mother—they all have the same things to say about their own sons. 'He was a good kid, he would never do this. You've made a mistake. Murderer, murderer, murderer'…"_

"_Murderer," Alfred mumbled and the other turned around again. "I killed a kid… He must have been seventeen… maybe sixteen. Hey… Tell me… what's a murderer?_

"_Well, someone who unlawfully kills another—"_

"_Then, am I one…?"_

"_Alfred," the voice softened. "It was his choice to gain possession of illegal firearms and dangerous explosives. You did what you thought was right, though I admit you were a damn fool too. But! You saved them… Isn't that what you thought that mattered? Your former boss was angry, but I'm sure he forgives you and so do the rest. It's over now."_

"_No…" He shook his head, his normally bright eyes downcast with remorse. "Even if they forgive me, even if everyone forgives me I can't… I can't…!"_

"_Forgive yourself?" He raised a thick eyebrow. The American swallowed and nodded, looking conflicted. The older man sighed and bowed his head, sticking his hands into his pockets. "So you're that type of guy, huh. Look… There's a reason why I wanted to talk to you right away. What if I told you there was a way for you to… uhm, redeem yourself if you may call it that?"_

_Alfred finally looked up. "What do you mean?"_

_His boss scratched his head and Alfred realized that the other didn't seem very intimidating or adamant now that he had a good look at him. He had a rather small stature, or at least smaller relative to him. He also… didn't look as old as he expected._

"_I have a colleague in Europe. We went to Oxford together but parted ways. We still maintain contact of course and recently, he told me about a flurry of suspicious activity happening over in Eastern Europe. He believes the center of it all is located in Russia."_

_That was all very vague, Alfred judged from what he was told. "So what is it? Some drug ring?"_

_His boss gave him a mysterious smile. "Well… I suppose you're close but there's not much I can tell you here, it's not my place to anyway. It's much more refined than organized crime if you understand. A portion of the Russian government has been corrupted beyond what we Americans would consider 'usual'. This corruption has spread and split itself into different branches, or so that's what my dear friend believes."_

"_Oh, I get it… But what about the police over there? What does that have to do with us?"_

"_Research," he answered simply. "Lost Soviet research that I'm sure our government wants. I'm afraid that's as far as I'm taking you. There is a mission in Lithuania that the both of us want you to complete."_

_Alfred looked bewildered, standing up. "Sir, first off, why me? Second, I don't even know where the heck Lithuania is—"_

_The older man pinched the bridge of his nose. "North-east from Poland and west of Belarus."_

"_Where's Belarus?"_

"_West of Russia you git." He coughed. "Excuse me. The broad objective is for you to expose the corruption centered in a particular facility in Lithuania and retrieve the research we were discreetly promised. In the meantime, you will probably save several lives that have been affected by whatever's been going on. Will you accept whatever we have planned for you for the sake of your, uhm, honor and reputation?"_

"_Of course—!" Alfred felt a surge of energy he had been missing for the past month, saluting sloppily. "But sir…" He drooped a little. "I don't know an ounce of Lithuanian or whatever the heck they speak over there. I mean, I almost failed my Spanish class in highschool—"_

_His boss let out an ill-disguised snicker. "I'm not throwing you across the Atlantic Ocean just yet. You have two years to prepare and that includes learning the language. Gordon, my colleague will condition you well. He promised you a partner or aide… A sophomore who attends the university he teaches at. I don't know the name, but I hear that he's a promising chap with unusual psychological perception. You're only a junior officer, Alfred, but everyone here knows that you're capable of much more. You've made a mistake, so here's your chance to correct it. You still don't know much about our situation but I'll ask you again: will you accept the mission we have planned for you?"_

"_I…" Alfred breathed in, strengthening his resolve. "I accept."_

_The corner of his mouth twitched into a pleased smile. "We'll go over this formally, but now isn't the time. You're dismissed, Jones."_

"_Yes sir," he turned to leave but stopped in mid-step. "But… if you don't mind me asking again, you never told me why I was chosen." _

"_I…" He paused to consider his words, Alfred guessed. "During your case, I told him about you and I suppose he recognized a connection between you and the student he has his eyes on. He knows why you've chosen to join us, to save people isn't it?"_

"_But…" He frowned. "I was transferred though—"_

"_And you accepted it. Alfred, listen to me, it isn't too late for you. You can't change the past, but you're still young—too young to be a pariah of the people. Now get out of here and don't let me catch you moping around ever again."_

-x-X-x-

Alfred smiled to himself, not feeling so tired anymore. He lifted his right hand and cracked open an eye to study his outstretched fingers. "Some boss you are… Giving me two years to go undercover in a country I never heard of." He chuckled to himself and rolled over, resting his face against his elbow.

"A pariah, huh? That was a tough word; I had to go look that one up. I won't let you down, old man… And I won't let you down, Toris."

**- - x – X – x - -**

_Hmm… I wonder who Alfred's boss is x ) I originally had a more angsty version of the ending to this chapter planned out but I decided that this story already has enough of that going on and any more unnecessary angst is… well, unnecessary._

_Once again, I'm sorry for the late chapter D; If you're reading this, then thank you so much for sticking with me this far—the end is within sight._

_And again, thank you to all my anonymous reviewers who I don't get a chance to thank personally. Love~_


	19. Rochambeau

**A/N:** _This chapter isn't exactly finished but I wanted to go ahead and submit it either way so I could have a chance to write a much-needed author's note._

_I've hovered in and out of this fandom for a while now. At the moment, I have one foot stuck in it. Things are going by a little slow (understatement) and I lack inspiration for this particular story. HOWEVER, I have no intention of dropping it. I've hit a few bumps of writer's block and discouragement but I still plan to finish this story to the very end._

_That being said, the only issue here is getting out updates on time so I can stop scaring my readers._

_If you're reading this, thank you so much for being unbelievably patient. m(u.u)m_

* * *

**_- Lamentia -_**

**_- XIX -_**

* * *

It was late in the evening when Toris finally arrived back at his apartment. Gilbert was waiting for him, sprawled on the living room floor while flipping through a pile of the Lithuanian's books. Toris only rolled his eyes—he didn't even bother reprimanding the German.

"Got any TV? I couldn't figure out how to work it."

Toris hung his coat on the rack and tossed aside his name badge before unbuttoning his collar. "Only basic. Shouldn't you be at work today?"

Gilbert rolled over. "My boss said I could take the week off since it's a slow one, that's why I thought yesterday would've been a good time to come and see you."

Toris shrugged before taking out the rest of the paperwork he needed to finish by tomorrow. It was routine for him now so he managed to complete the most tedious part within the hour. He pushed aside the rest for later before grabbing a cup of coffee to keep himself awake.

_Things at the asylum have been so slow too… _Toris thought to himself. _Ivan's been quiet, and Pavarde doesn't even want my next report until after the weekend—_

His hazy thoughts were interrupted by the ringing suddenly blasting from his pocket. Toris almost dropped his coffee when he realized who it was.

"Alfred?"

"_Hola amigo. Brace yourself, I'm gonna be at your doorstep in five… four minutes."_

-x-X-x-

Alfred expected Toris to be happy to see him, but he didn't expect his Lithuanian friend to promptly throw his arms around his neck in a sort of weird bear hug.

When he pulled away, his eyes were bright as his breath left his half-open mouth in puffs of fog. "You made it back safely."

Alfred grinned and Toris stepped aside to let him in. The warm air of the apartment was a godsend—he still hadn't gotten used to these European winters. Toris took his coat for him and he was surprised to find another person sitting crossed-legged on the couch, flipping through an old TV.

"You're…" Alfred began dumbly. "Uhm give me a moment, Gil… Gilroy? Gil—"

"Gilbert," he finished tartly, glaring at him through his silver fringe. His red eyes glinted when he glanced at Toris, waiting for him to speak.

Alfred turned his head without taking his eyes off of the other. "Uh, Toris…?"

Toris dusted himself off and merely sat down on the floor, crossing his legs. He seemed wholly unconcerned and Alfred found that really strange. The brunette seemed a bit more… cheery all of a sudden.

"You two remember each other, don't you? I mean, it hasn't been that long," he said before he turned to address him. "Gilbert's here because he had to tell me—"

"Toris," Gilbert warned.

Toris sighed, brushing back his bangs. "Look, I know all of the things that pertain to Visaillis and Ivan Braginsky are sensitive, but I trust you both and I'll ask you two to do the same with each other. I wouldn't be here without you two and I depend on you both to end what's happening."

When he worded it like that, it seemed pretty reasonable, but Alfred still held on to some of his inhibitions—after all, his life practically depended on this cover, which was already jeopardized on more than one occassion. "I still want to know what _you're_ responsible for, no offense," he added lowly, looking directly at the man named Gilbert.

Those discerning eyes flashed again. "Well Mr. Investigator, to put it in a nutshell, my father worked under Visaillis as a researcher. He quit, I was offered the job, I refused, so they killed him and made it seem like it was an accident. Then we made it clear that Ivan was the last survivor—"

"—Of his team, because the rest were killed and their deaths were covered up, right?" Alfred sat down as well, making the three a triangle. Toris seemed surprised to hear that. "Then I guess I don't have to explain again that Braginsky's mission in Afghanistan didn't go so well."

"You knew?" Toris asked. He sounded genuinely curious rather than angry that he didn't tell him about it sooner.

Alfred nodded, scratching his head. "Hey don't look so surprised, I know how to get good research done when I want to. Anyways, my main source was an old article from the year of the incident along with a couple of obituaries."

"Then we have that covered," Gilbert mumbled. "Toris, if you really trust this guy, then I want you to prove it."

He and Toris appeared equally confused. "Prove it?"

"I shared a secret, he shares a secret, and so you have to share your own too. You _know_ what I'm talking about."

Alfred didn't seem convinced. "This isn't a slumber party—Toris?"

Toris paled and his earlier demeanor vanished almost instantly. Alfred frowned. "Toris? What _is_ he talking about?"

"You can't make me do that…" He trailed off, his eyes glassy. "Not right now."

Gilbert frowned and Alfred could only look between them in confusion.

"It's only fair."

Toris lowered his gaze and for a minute, he didn't speak at all. Alfred wanted to ask again, but he decided to follow the German's lead and leave the brunet to think.

Finally, "I… haven't been entirely open to you about this—I didn't think you would ever believe me—" he fidgeted and nervously folded his legs in a new position. "—Do you remember the first night shift I had? You know, the one where I said I saw a man hanging?"

Is that what it was? If this was Toris's explanation, then he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. "Yeah, but there _wasn't_ a man hanging."

"That's the thing," Toris sighed, rubbing his temples. He seemed tired now. "Alfred… the thing I saw was something only I could see."

Wait what? "So you're saying… You've been seeing things? Like hallucinations?"

Toris chuckled humorlessly. "No… but then again, in a way, they are." He took a deep breath and held it, as if he were staring down a cliff side. "I can see the suffering of people."

Alfred didn't know what to say. Was this his idea of a joke? Because if it was, it wasn't funny—it was actually kind of creepy. There was no way he could be serious… no way…

Toris exchanged glances with Gilbert before looking back at him. "…When someone feels sadness, or anger, or anything else like that, I can _see_ it, but sometimes the feeling I get is stronger. When the emotions are strong enough, they sometimes rub off on me and I get… well, sick." He reached out towards him. "Like now, I can see a dark haze around even you, Alfred. It's faint, but it's there. Something bad happened to you in the past, but your optimism makes up for it—you're healing."

Alfred stared at the fingers as they reached for something he couldn't see. He didn't like this one bit and he couldn't help but lean back a fraction of an inch. If this were anyone else, he would be feeling _violated _right now, but then again, it was Toris. Only Toris. "_What_ are you going on about? How…" He shook his head. "How can you see something like emotions? No one _actually_ has a sixth sense—it isn't real, only in the movies."

"But the thing is, it is." Toris closed his hand and stared at it for a moment before lowering his entire arm. "I don't know… it was something I could do for as long as I can remember."

Alfred could only lower his head and bury his fingers into the carpet. This was absolutely terrifying, even though he knew Toris would never want to actually scare him. "What else do you see?" He looked up only slightly.

The other's eyes softened. "Guilt. A lot of it."

Alfred felt a pang and leaned back against the front of the sofa, groaning. "This is freaking crazy."

"Wow," Gilbert whistled. "Not even I reacted that way when I found out."

Alfred shot him a look before addressing the other. "I still don't really get it and it scares the hell out of me… but you're the same as ever, right? Can I ask you something though?"

Toris relaxed at that, but only slightly. "I owe you that at least."

"Well here it goes then. Doesn't it suck? I mean how can you even be happy if all you see is pain? Hell, why aren't _you_ the one in a mental home?"

Toris blinked, surprised at first, but then he chuckled. "I like to think of it as only empathy, Alfred. But in all seriousness, I think I've been desensitized… if that makes sense." He paused, looking silly for a moment for talking about both empathy and desensitization as the same experience. "Some people stand out, but either way, it's something I've learned to live with. I know it's not natural, but it's almost like learning how to live on with blindness, or losing a limb."

"Except not," both he and Gilbert replied blankly.

Toris waved a hand and hushed them. "Would you rather me say it's like learning how to live with an extra eye then?"

-x-X-x-

He wanted to see Toris the moment he landed in Vilnius because he knew Toris wanted news, and his gut was telling him that they were all running out of time.

However, now that he was here, he found it increasingly difficult to sort his thoughts out and tell the two what he learned during his trip around Lithuania. He probably should've written a speech down or something because this was getting embarrassing.

"So there was a tree…" Toris repeated. Even he sounded a little confused.

"It was in a park."

"I would suppose so," Toris said, raising an eyebrow.

Alfred flailed his hands around as he tried to illustrate what was going on in his head. Needless to say, neither Toris nor Gilbert was impressed.

"Start with the hearing, Detective," Gilbert suggested, sounding unhelpful.

"But the park with the tree—"

"I think you should listen to him," Toris sighed, "Please tell us about Ivan's trial."

Alfred caved in to their pressure and he procured a tape. "I don't have the actual trial, but I do have a recording of his confession. Do you have a player?"

Toris nodded and stretched over the floor rug to reach behind the nearby television set. With a few tugs, he untangled a dusty tape player from the mess of forgotten cables. "Here." He placed it in the middle.

Alfred blew on the tape before sticking it into the slot. They all waited in baited silence as he pushed down the on button.

Faint static greeted them before an unfamiliar man read out the date the tape was recorded as well as the occasion.

"_You can begin talking, Mr. Braginsky. An interpreter will be here for a second recording."_

Toris bit his lip when he recognized Ivan's voice. He sounded surprisingly younger, but still as tired as ever. However, he could barely understand him. "He's talking too fast, it's in Russian—"

"_emevas—"_

Toris frowned and looked to see if the others caught the strange sound. Alfred was translating, but neither of them appeared to notice the gibberish over Ivan's voice that was spilling out of the tape right now.

"—_emevasesaelp—_"

A whine began to accompany it. "What is that?" He asked over the recording.

Gilbert appeared annoyed. "You just said it was in Russian, dumbass."

"No I mean—"

"_—" _The whining escalated into a screech before stopping abruptly. The room fell completely silent and Toris realized it was because he turned the tape player off without knowing it.

"Ah…" He also didn't realize he forgot to breathe. "Sorry, I just… I just think we should get straight to the main point. You said something about evidence, right?"

Alfred and Gilbert exchanged fleeting looks as if they were reconsidering his sanity. Toris didn't blame them—it was probably his fault for reading too deeply in what was probably static.

"Yeah… I was getting to that," Alfred said as he took the tape out and tossed it back into his bag. Toris swallowed as he watched the other zip it away.

"What's the point though?" Gilbert asked, trying to shift attention away from Toris's questionable behavior. "I think we realize that Braginsky is guilty, otherwise we wouldn't be having a problem here."

Alfred seemed to perk as he smiled wryly. "Except he's not."

If Toris were holding coffee, well, needless to say, both of them would be suffering from second-degree burns.

"_What?_"

Alfred winked, "'Told you I wouldn't disappoint."

"Well, spill it then," Gilbert said. "You can't pull something like that out of your ass."

Toris was only speechless.


	20. Eve of the End

_**- Lamentia -**_

_**- XX -  
**_

* * *

Toris was only speechless, still as a deer caught in headlights.

His mind, however, was a storm of conflicting thoughts.

Ivan was innocent, or so Alfred claimed. Could it be true then, that the tower of suffering Ivan built for himself laid atop a foundation that composed of nothing but a false conviction? Could it be true then, that each brick placed to imprison him in more ways than one could be so easily destroyed as they were created?

Up until now, Ivan's innocence was only a passing idea that Toris hardly entertained. He spent every minute with the Russian knowing, believing that his charge was a murderer. Of course he questioned the asylum's conventional treatment, but he didn't think to question their legality as well.

So what does this mean for them, for him? Alfred just presented him a third option along with consequences Toris was too overwhelmed to properly consider.

"Ivan… didn't kill anyone?" He asked. He knew what Al meant, but to make sure…

"Well," the other answered, pursing his lips together for a moment. "He probably has, since you know, he's a former soldier. But for the case at hand, no, it was impossible for it to happen, by his hands anyways. Liet's dead, there's no doubt about that, but it wasn't murder."

Neither of them spoke up when Alfred finished his sentence. However, by the looks of the stagnant atmosphere, it seemed that both he and Gilbert had come to the same conclusion.

But Toris didn't want to believe it.

"How… how do you know?" He barely managed, his energy and optimism from before long drained.

"Thought you'd never ask." Alfred flashed him a fleeting smile. "I knew there was something fishy from the start. Braginsky was found guilty _because_ he pleaded guilty. Normally, that wouldn't be enough for a conviction. Shoddy paperwork and half-assed evidence 'backed' him up though. That's how I knew where to look. The guilty verdict was never strong from the start, but it wasn't like anyone was really _dying_ to let a madman walk the streets." He frowned again but shook his head, taking out a folder from his bag.

He shook out a single photo and Toris knew what it was before he flipped it over, ready to avert his eyes and greet a wave of nausea. However, the shot included only the neck and torso of the all-too-familiar corpse. Gruesome, yes, but infinitely better than a mutilated face.

Alfred set it between their triangle and Toris spared Gilbert a glance. He seemed unfazed, but interested in the photo. Toris could practically match each twitch of the eye to every detail he took in.

Al pressed a finger to the print, tracing the thick dark line encircling Liet's neck. "Cause of death: asphyxiation. You already know that Toris. Everyone thought Ivan strangled him."

Gilbert scooted closer for a better look. "That was made by a rope," he pointed out.

Alfred shook a finger, looking pleased with himself. "Yes, but let's not skip ahead for a moment. No one paid much attention to the mark—to them it only told them a cause of death. Rather, they paid more attention the mutilation Braginsky actually inflicted to incriminate him. He's brutal, violent, remorseless—what more could a bored jury want for a verdict?

"The autopsy report says the wounds were inflicted post-mortem, which doesn't really mean much even now. They didn't say when exactly and apparently no one complained. Can I repeat, 'shoddy paperwork'? Thanks to that, I ran into a dead end, but I found something else.

"It takes a while for rigor mortis to set in—even longer for it to disappear. Say it took three hours for Liet's body to stiffen up and then at least eighteen hours for it to loosen again. The rigor mortis ended fifteen hours after the body was brought in, which means that his time of death was six hours more or less before he was found: 9 PM. According to airline records, Braginsky was scheduled to return from a trip—although early or delayed flights might've had some role. However, it's still highly unlikely, no, impossible for him to have even _bee_n around Liet at the time of his death."

Toris couldn't believe what he was hearing. It made sense, yet it escaped him to see how many flaws were left to exist and condemn an innocent man.

"I guess no one gives you the benefit of the doubt when they think you're insane," Gilbert thought aloud, crossing his arms. "I'm impressed—I didn't think you were the type to clean up after men more brilliant than you."

Alfred beamed, oblivious to the back-handedness of the compliment. "You know, sometimes I impress even myself. But hey, I can get stuff done if I put my back into it, right Toris?"

"Oh… yeah. I suppose," he replied, rather distantly. Gilbert and Alfred exchanged looks and Toris was sure despite himself that the blonde expected more of a reaction from him.

Gilbert cleared his throat, thankfully shifting the attention away from him. "That's one part of your story then. Let's pretend that Braginsky is the murderer, how does this—" he retraced the line along Liet's throat "—come into play? I was right, right? This was made by a rope."

"That's obvious enough," Alfred replied, "but Ivan was found with the body. He's strong enough to choke the life out of anyone, so why would he resort to something like a rope and leave behind more evidence? I asked myself that and went back to the official site of Liet's death by tracing the broken glass left in his wounds." Alfred pulled out a second, seemingly mundane photo of a tree branch. He pointed out a light-colored ring around the wood.

"Now this is what I meant when I mentioned the tree in the park. This was made by a rope burn. The piece that was left in the evidence locker was stretched and one end was frayed. I found the missing piece back at the site and I was surprised it was never found until then."

"Because no one bothered looking for it," Gilbert said. "The trial must of ended before the evidence could be thoroughly examined… especially since probably no one requested a reexamination."

Alfred nodded, pulling out a third photo that was as old as the first. "You can see the indents in the fibers of the rope. It was tied into a noose, but then undone by Braginsky when he found the body."

Toris felt sick to his stomach. For once, it wasn't because of his empathy… rather, it was what Alfred was insinuating.

"A noose and a rope burn on a branch… Then I guessed right," the German mumbled. "It was suicide."

"Yeah," Alfred affirmed. "After I found a foothold in his innocence, I was curious enough to find out what really happened. Braginsky is in an asylum for someone who killed himself."

"No." He spoke without thinking. Both of them turned their heads towards him with matching bemusement.

"No?" Al asked. "I know it's plain and anticlimactic, but that's what the evidence says. I looked over everything—I swear."

Toris bit his lip, looking away. He didn't think Alfred was lying, but that didn't make it any easier to believe him.

Suicide. Suicide was a reality and victims before they died emanated a suffocating miasma—Toris knew that much. He shook his head, grasping his temples. "I know… I'm sorry, I just need a moment…" Without waiting for an answer from either of them, Toris stood up and left, closing his bedroom door behind him.

He walked numbly to his bedside table, throwing open one of the drawers and taking out the fat enveloped Alfred gave him several days ago. Without looking, he pulled out a single photo and studied the young man it depicted.

Gentle, but unwavering green eyes met his own and Toris gently touched them with his fingertips. He collapsed onto the bed, still grasping the picture as he stared holes into it. Perhaps if he studied it long enough, he'd be able to gain information even Alfred couldn't offer him. Toris laughed. Here he was, hoping a dead man could tell him something the others couldn't.

"Why?" He murmured to someone he knew could never hear him. "Was the man you bound yourself to too heavy of a burden? Did you think that you trapped yourself in a life you no longer wished to live…? That you had no other options?" Scans, autopsy reports, prints… they could only tell you so much—what, when, where, _how. _But not why. Did he leave behind a note at least? Unlikely if his death was considered a murder. Even if one was left behind, outdated words could mean nothing at all.

When that last thought passed through his head, Toris furrowed his brow in a grimace that was aimed towards himself more than anyone else. Why would it matter to him? It was none of his business and he was in no position to pass judgment. He was a lowly intern with a little too much compassion for his own good. Plain. Simple. He was no one extraordinary, minus his strange ability—but even then, his perception was only another thing he had learned to live with. He parted ways with Gilbert and chose the rode that was the unending mystery of the human mind because he wanted to make a difference, but where was he supposed to draw the line? Perhaps his role was never meant to outgrow the confines of university walls.

Even as he questioned himself, deep down, Toris knew he was entangled in a half-century old scheme the moment Alfred approached him for his help. They were each other's lifelines whether or not he liked it. The day he confronted his friend in the parking lot of Visaillis was the same day he decided to settle for nothing short of the truth. Maybe he didn't realize it until now, but a handful of answers yielded by Alfred's research did not mean their purpose has reached a dead end.

There were answers still hovering out of their reach, and one way or another, Toris was going to gather them for himself.

-x-X-x-

It wasn't like Toris to suddenly storm off and leave Alfred alone with _him_. The awkwardness of their situation was overbearing as he exchanged uncertain looks with the albino.

"… I don't get it," Alfred finally said after Toris locked himself in his room. He stared at the ground, picking loose threads out of the carpet. "I thought he'd be happy to know that Ivan Braginsky is innocent."

Gilbert scowled as he leaned back, propping himself up with his arms. "Isn't Toris attached to him? I didn't think he'd be so hung up either, unless…" He trailed off for a moment. "Unless the problem isn't about Braginsky. It's about—what's his name? The guy who died."

Alfred chewed his lip in consideration. Gilbert had a point. Throughout his entire explanation, Toris was silent (probably with awe at his handiwork) and he couldn't really blame him for that—but the moment they concluded that Liet died by suicide, his demeanor changed almost completely. A different sort of disbelief replaced the wary doubt in his eyes. "Probably. But why? It sucks that someone died, but doesn't this just simplify things? Or at least, spell out a happy ending?"

Gilbert shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. Either way, there's no point sulking over a dead guy. Who cares how he kicked the bucket? It doesn't take a psychic to realize that people can kill themselves." His expression turned bitter. "Actually, Toris should know that better than anyone."

Alfred gave the bedroom door a single, worried glance before turning back to him. "You know I'm terrified of ghosts and other things science can't explain, but I can't help but wonder what it's like, you know?"

"Well it's freaking weird, I can tell you that," Gilbert replied. "At first I thought he was just pulling some crazy psychoanalysis shit on me… obviously I learned that he wasn't. It took me a while to get over it."

"I bet," Alfred muttered. They were fun to believe in, but until now, he'd never think he'd experience a superpower, if he could even call it that. Gilbert was right—it really was a weird ability as far as he could tell. What was it even good for in the long run…? Maybe out of all the impossible possibilities, Toris was just plain unlucky to end up with this one.

He paid no mind to the hole he was practically biting into his lip. No, Toris wasn't unlucky. He wasn't useless, either. Detecting someone's sadness, anger, or pain no matter how hard one tried to hide it was already unnerving on it's own. Suffering is tied to weakness, to insecurities. If Toris could 'see' this, then it would only take a cunning mind and selfish intentions to twist him into something akin to the next Hannibal.

The thought of it was terrifying. What if… No, wait—what the hell was he even thinking? Alfred cringed as he mentally beat himself into a pulp for letting his wacked imagination get the better of him again. Toris was his partner, his friend! He was assigned to this case _because_ he was such a good guy. Even Alfred himself has told him a million times that he was way too nice for his own good. Toris was like the epiphany of compassion and virtue… or something like that.

He trusted his life with him. Some mumbo jumbo he barely understood wasn't going to change that. Besides, they were nearing the end of this mess… Alfred wasn't going to back out because of some stupid idea.

"Don't hurt yourself," Gilbert said, raising an eyebrow. Before he could retort, the bedroom door swung open, revealing Toris.

The brunet briskly walked past them, snatching his coat from the hanger.

"I'm going out," he said.

"Out…?" Both he and Gilbert asked, dumbfounded.

Toris nodded, turning towards them as he tied his hair up into a ponytail. "Yeah. I was just called in for the graveyard shift. You guys can manage here on your own, right?"

"That's not the problem," Alfred said a little more hastily than he intended. "There's practically no one to tend to. Why would they need an extra hand _now_?"

Toris shrugged, oblivious to his concern. "Probably maintenance around the building. I _am_ an intern after all, I'm used to the slave-driving."

"In that case, I'll take you—" he moved to stand up, but Toris pushed him back down with surprising force.

"I already called a taxi," he said, shouldering his bag. "And to be honest… I would feel better if you two would stay the night." He nodded towards Gilbert. "I won't be back to morning. There are spare sheets in the closet—you two can decide who gets the bed."

The bed? Oh, he better get on that—wait, that's not even important right now. "Are you… worried about us?" He asked.

And quite suddenly, Toris flushed, looking away. "I-I can't keep you guys here, of course!" He sounded a little apologetic. "I mean, I would feel better if you two stayed. I, well, you can leave whenever you'd like, but… I just want to let you know you can stick around as well."

Yes… he was back to his old self. Toris was always that sort of person to worry about others while fumbling with ways to cope for it.

Gilbert wrinkled his nose. "Like I need your permission." His tone was less than friendly, but something told him that he got the message nonetheless. Alfred cleared his throat.

"There are some things I want to look over anyways. I'll give you a call if something comes up."

Toris nodded. "I understand. There are some things I want to find out as well." With that, he left, locking the door behind him.

Gilbert sighed heavily and dragged himself onto the nearest sofa. "I've been here for days, but I don't feel like returning to work anytime soon."

"Tell me about it," he said before pointing out, "I don't think Toris believes the case is a suicide."

"Gee," Gilbert snorted, picking up the remote to flip through the rather mundane TV channels, "What on earth would make you think that?"

Alfred ignored his sass as he spread out the contents of the folder he took out earlier. "Thanks to him, I'm second guessing myself… Damn it, I thought I was on a solid track." He narrowed his eyes, switching from lovable hero detective to scrutinizing investigator. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to double check… everything… I guess."

-x-X-x-

Toris was right, he was assigned hall cleaning duty. Why he couldn't do this during the day, he wasn't sure, but he was hardly in the position to complain. After finishing the lower wings, he decided to make another round through the now-empty rooms.

Passing by Ivan's, he only aimed to give the other a quick check, but a single question gnawing at the back of his mind rooted him to the spot outside his door. Was Ivan asleep? He was never sure when the Russian would call it a night since more often than not, he left work soon after dinner.

He was just about to shake off his curiosity and return to mopping floors when he heard heavy foot steps on the other side. Ivan opened the door and Toris didn't bother to mask his surprise.

"I… heard you coming," the older man explained without him asking. "Only you walk like that, Toris." His voice was steady, words more articulated—yet he sounded as tired as ever.

"The door's… unlocked?"

Ivan glanced down at his hand still resting on the door handle. "Yes…" He answered slowly. "I do not know why." He turned his back on him and Toris followed him into the room.

"'Is late," Ivan remarked when Toris said nothing. "Why are you here?"

"I was worried there were no patients for me to look after," he replied, cringing as he tried to work out the knot in his back.

Ivan shook his head, sitting back down at the side of his bed. He looked worn, defeated. Well, of course he was never the most energetic compared to the other patients, but the oppressive air lingering about him was still troubling. What went down in the hours when he was gone?

"No, why are you _here_," he finally repeated, sounding rather impatient.

Toris was about to answer him, but stopped. Ivan was just being Ivan, there was no getting around that. He pulled up a chair and the other took it as a sign that he was here to stay a little longer.

"What about you?" Toris asked him, hands folded and body composed.

If Ivan was surprised to have his question handed back to him, he didn't show it. "You know why… Toris."

It was his turn to shake his head. Of course Ivan wasn't going to cooperate with him on the first try. Perhaps he didn't even know what he was talking about. After all, this was a secret that Ivan had been harboring for years on his own… Or at least he hoped it was just him.

"You didn't kill anyone."

Ivan visibly flinched. There… that was the reaction Toris was expecting. He pressed on, steeling himself and silently apologizing at the same time. "Well, perhaps you did—but not _him_. So I'll ask you again, why are you here, Ivan?"

The former soldier stared down at his hands. "I had hoped… that Marcel was wrong."

Toris didn't understand, but before he could ask him to explain, Ivan returned to the question at hand.

"I was never punished for leading my comrades to their deaths. There was much hate held against me, but I cannot blame them, da? I wanted nothing more than to bare my neck to their eager hands, but… But I met Liet. Liet was stupid, foolish… Always tangling himself up in the business of other people.

"But… he gave me another way… another road untouched by war and the agendas of politics. I had wanted to die, to let go. No, what I had really wanted was to simply escape, so I took his road… Carrying with me the blood I wanted to run away from in the first place," he anguished.

Toris frowned as he leaned in closer. This wasn't what he asked for. Ivan was acting strangely and going off on his own, but Toris held on to every word he uttered, broken or otherwise.

"How did you know where to find him when he died…?" Toris quietly asked him. "Did he leave a letter, anything?"

Ivan closed his eyes, bowing his head. "No… Only a note to 'meet' him."

Toris winced. It was true then—Alfred had been right all along. He had hoped, for whatever strange and selfish reason, that there was a piece of the puzzle he had overlooked. Liet killed himself, probably from the weight of Ivan's burden as far as he could gather from what he'd been told.

Of course they would never know for sure, since Ivan's old partner didn't leave anything behind. Nothing at all.

He ground his teeth together. What was he trying to do? After all this time, did he have the absolutely ridiculous idea that he could somehow replace Liet? Not out of want for attention, but of arrogance? Did he have the audacity to look up to a man he never met, yet want to accomplish where he had failed?

And accomplish what, exactly? Leading this man out of his own self-condemnation? Toris understood his want for penance, his overbearing guilt for the lives lost in the past. He'd understand his choice and perhaps even let him be, but not like this. _This _was wrong.

"Toris?" Ivan's gaze fixed onto his.

"Yes?" He stood up slowly, putting away the folding chair. He was tempted to stay just a little longer, but he had another calling.

"You know the truth, da?" His eyes narrowed hazily. "What are you going to do?"

He stood there in prolonged silence, pressing the chair to the ground with rigid hands. What was he going to do? He's asked himself that a thousand times before.

"Fix things," he replied. Answers. He needed them—their jobs weren't done yet and fortunately for him, Toris knew where to start.


End file.
